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THE ^qc^ 
 
 MYSTERIES OF St. CLAIR J /W 
 
 BY Mrs. CATHERINE G. WARD, 
 
 Aathorcu of ihe following popultr Noreli, vie. 
 
 TA* Mysierious Marriage — The Hose of Claremoni — Orphan £?oj?** 
 
 The Thorn-^Familif Portraits—Cottage on ihe Clijff- 
 
 fVidow's Choice^ <5 c. 
 
 « My history is slight ! I am the child 
 Of sorrow and of shame! I can lecal 
 Only a humble home, and but one parent^- 
 My solitary mother! and she watch'd me. 
 And wore herself to sickness for my sake.'* 
 
 Eonnon : 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. JAQUES AND W. WRIGHl 
 
 EAGLE OFFICE, CB.OSS STREET, NEWINGTON BUTTS. 
 
 Sold also by D. Jaques, Chelsea; and all other Book«ellei«. 
 
 1824. 
 
■ll 
 
 
THE 
 
 MYSTERIES of St. CLAIR. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 ** Mark yon old mansion, frowning through, the trecs,^ 
 Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze j 
 That casement, arch'd with ivy*s brownest shade. 
 First to these eyes the light of hearen conveyed; 
 The mouldei ing gateway strews the grass-grown court. 
 Once the calm scene of many a youthful sport j 
 When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new, 
 And the heart promisM what the fancy drew." 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Slow broke the tints of a bri«^ht autumnal inornina^ 
 on the grey monastic towers of the castle of St. CJair; 
 and all, but Sir Walter Grey De Ruthen, slept in peace- 
 ful slumbers beneath its antiquated walls, He had 
 retired, at a late houu^ to the gothic chamber which 
 had been prepared for his reception on his arrival 
 there ; long previous to which, no one of his vassals 
 dared to interrupt the meditations to which he seemed 
 inclined. It had been a tranquil night, sweet as the 
 breath of angels ; and as he sat absorbed in thought, 
 near the casement, a gentle breeze whispered among 
 the honeysuckles which bloomed above him ; and the 
 full moon tinged with her a'.her i\ght the white bosom 
 of the wide expanse of ocean, that proudlv swelled 
 
 96^840 
 
4 — ♦Wii^' aiYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 and sometimes gently flowed, beneath the grey and 
 lofty towers of 8t. Clair. 
 
 A supper had been placed before Sir Walter, of the 
 choicest delicacies ; but he tasted not of the pampered 
 meal of luxury, by him uncalled for. And the warrior 
 looked, and smiled at the fancied made-up dishes 
 which were placed before him ; and gazed with listless 
 apathy on the brilliancy of the dazzHng lights, which 
 illuminated, in various directions, the sumptuous 
 apartmeivt in which the costly banquet for him only 
 had been provided, with such idle pomp and useless 
 ceremony. There were odoriferous perfumes, too, 
 scattered in rich and elegant profusion ; and slaves 
 that waited in obedience to his commands. 
 
 But it was a joyless supper to Sir Walter ; and 
 the gaudy scenes before him, for his cheerless and 
 melancholy mind, had not a charm. 
 
 Inured to the hardships and perils of war, he 
 loved war alone. It had been his rugged nurse ; and 
 the cradle that rocked his infancy had been the din of 
 arras — the cannon's roar — the sword — the buckler — 
 and the shield. H^ was both born and educated in 
 feudal times, nor knew he augbt but that which ap- 
 pertained to the life of a soldier. But to the castle 
 of St. Clair he bad been sent by the express com- 
 mand of his imperious liege lord and master, St. 
 Julian, who was the victorious chief, to seek audience 
 with the Lady Margaret Albino, mother of the 
 illustrious hero, who had that day been slain in battle, 
 to demand the keys of the store rooms ; in order that 
 fresh supplies of provision might be sent to the weary 
 and exhausted troops, then under his command, and 
 unable to pursue their route, from the many privatioi^t 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOUIJNE. 5 
 
 and hardships they had sustained, through a long and 
 tedious campaign. 
 
 But with the peremptory and imperious command 
 of the mortally hated and detested St. Julian, Lady 
 Margaret chose not to comply ; and although a luxu> 
 rious banquet had been set before his page, Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, yet the common supplies necessary to 
 support human nature, Lady Margaret had denied 
 to the poor famished troops, merely because they were 
 under the command of St. Julian. 
 
 " No!'* uttered she, in a proud, haughty, and vin- 
 dictive tone, tempered by the natural asperity of her 
 disposition; " tell Sir Walter De Ruthen that Mar- 
 garet disdains to listen to any terms of amity thus 
 offered by St. Julian ; and that I will not grant the 
 assistance which he so imperiously demands ! He 
 has conquered my husband, but he shall not conquer 
 me; nor will I yield compliance with his wishes! Uis 
 terms of negotiation I despise ! and tell him, also, that 
 1 do not dread his vengeance do what he may. The 
 castle of St. Clair shall be impregnable to his attempts, 
 and to all of his minions, who shall dare to invade its 
 repose. Tell Sir Walter all this : let him go hence, 
 depart in peace, and trouble me no more !" 
 
 But Sir Walter, who had listened in profound as- 
 tonishment to the haughty and repulsive language of 
 the Lady Margaret Albino, greeted the page to whom 
 she had delivered her commands, with no very conci- 
 liating looks, as he approached him ; and, not giving 
 him time to execute the mission with which he was 
 so imperiously charged, he fiercely exclaimed :— 
 
 " I will not be so repulsed, by the honour of a sol- 
 dier ! nor will I go hence, or depart, without more 
 
6 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 satisfactory intelligence. Conduct me, then, to the 
 presence of this relentless fair one, of whom, I, Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen, ^\ho never yet sued to mortal 
 man, now implore of her, (the Lady Margaret) a pri- 
 vate conference. One single word shall suffice me, 
 and that word will charm her — shall charm her !" Sir 
 Walter paused — a hectic colouring of a moment passed 
 over his furrowed cheek ; furrowed with the toils of 
 rude and rugged war, more than any ravages that the 
 hand of hoary headed time had made on his sunburnt^ 
 yet highly animated and intelligent features ; and Sir 
 Orviile Faulkner, while observing the most respectful 
 silence, could not repress the most glowing admi- 
 ration of the fine martial figure of the brave and un- 
 daunted soldier, who disdained meanly to wear a smile 
 of hypocrisy, when his heart owned a more powerful 
 influence than merely the duty which was incumbent on 
 him in delivering the commands of his liege lord 
 and master to Lady Margaret Albino, for wishing to 
 behold her ; and it was not alone fbe fine figure of Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen, that altogetlier attracted Lady 
 Margaret's page towards him ; it was the military 
 costume, which was evidently of the Austrian order, 
 (which was not that of St. Julian's) and which so cor^- 
 responded with the look — the manners — the voice — 
 the countenance of Sir Walter j and that was no 
 unmeaning one, for nature had stamped upon it an 
 impression which could not easily be mistaken ; — a 
 soldier, a man and a christian ! And, when darting 
 once more his eagle eye on Sir Orviile Faulkner, he 
 repeated his demand, to obtain an audience with the 
 Lady Margaret, the page, in a faltering voice, re- 
 plied, — 
 
OR, MARIETTl MOULINE. f 
 
 « Think not, Sir Walter, that I would willingly 
 deny you an interview with an illustrious lady, did 
 the access to her apartments rest alone with me ; but 
 you know not the mysteries that extend their baneful 
 influence in Ihe castle of St. Clair : for that there are 
 mysteries which i\o mortal hath the power of divining", 
 save the Lady Margaret herself, all who enter the 
 precincts of this castle, will quickly learn ; even now 
 the postern-gates arc strongly guarded, and the draw- 
 bridge already secured." 
 
 " Am I, then, a prisoner of the Lady Margaret ?" 
 cried Sir Walter, and smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " Not so. Sir Walter,'* uttered the page, " far be 
 it from me to insinuate aught against the liege mis- 
 tress whom I serve ; but you will find it diilicuU to 
 depart ere the morning breaks, from the lofty towers of 
 St. Clair.'» 
 
 '* I would try that, and grapple which should have 
 the stoutest sword among us, were I once resolved to 
 go,'* answered Sir Walter ; " but, by my faith, I would 
 rather tarry here a thousand years, than miss my aim 
 with haughty Margaret Yet, save you, sir, I am 
 much bounden to you for your well-meaning ; as, no 
 doubt, you mean me well, as I do you." 
 
 " Sir, I bear no enmity to mortal man, nor woman 
 either," cried Sir Orville Faulkner. 
 
 Sir Walter eyed the page incredulously ; for he 
 imagined that beneath the guise of so much courtesy 
 and suavity of manners, that deception lurked, and 
 that there was somewhat of the crafty statesman about 
 him : and fixing his keenly penetrating eye full upon 
 him, he uttered, sarcastically, — 
 
 " Then thou art at peace even with thy foes ? " 
 
8 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAlR ; 
 
 " I hope 80," gravely answered the Lady Margaret's 
 page, though not without a colour mounting to his 
 youthful cheek, and a humid expression of sensibility 
 moistening his brilliant eye. 
 
 " At peace with St. Julian, too ?" demanded Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen. " You said at peace with all 
 mankind ; and St. Julian is a man, and a man of met- 
 tle,~is not he ?" 
 
 ** And St. Julian is a man that I venerate most 
 highly," said the page ; "and wherefore should my 
 tongue be silent in his praise ? When a boy, scarce 
 twenty years ago, I listened to the great exploits and 
 the battles fought and won by the youthful conqueror, 
 St. Julian. Oft has my father, once high and mighty 
 in arms on the plains of Corsica, dwelt on the perfec- 
 tions of the martial hero, till ray young heart has pant- 
 ed to become like him, so virtuous, and like him, so 
 renowned ; who ne'er returned from battle but with 
 victorious wreaths shining o'er his brow : and with 
 such modest grace, they say, he wore his laurels too, 
 that, wheresoever he went, he was the idol and the won- 
 der of an admiring world. Ah, I have heard it whis- 
 pered, too," cried Sir Orville, lowering his voice to the 
 softest whisper, " before I came hither, in the service 
 of Albino's lady, that St. Julian loved, and was be- 
 loved by the daughter of our late gallant chief, the 
 Lord Albino — the lovely Augustina. Did report err, 
 when it rumoured thus ? or, did the lady fancy only 
 that she loved ? or, was it the mere flower of youth only 
 in the great St. Jiilian to admire her ? Yet, surely 
 Augustina, of all Bohemian maids, is the fairest — the 
 best — the most discreet! I do not think there is a 
 model of such a lady in all womankind !" 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 
 
 ** By my faith, it would seem so," cried Sir Walter, 
 bluntly ; " for thou art marvellously fond of dwelling 
 <M perfections so rare and unexampled ; yet thou art 
 young, and it is a trick of youth to like that best which 
 seemeth lovely to the eye. For the Bohemian maid, 
 I have heard somewhat of the beauty you extol, but 
 never heard the idle tale you speak of, that St. Julian 
 ever loved her. The rumour is false, believe me : but, 
 were it true, what doth that concern you or I ? to men- 
 tion it so slightly. Boy, you will do well to hold this 
 thought in silence ; or, reaching the ear of the haughty 
 Margaret, thy place in office will be resigned to one 
 less apt of speech, and far less apt of thought than 
 thou art. Dost thoa not understand me rightly ? I 
 will tell thee that thou wouldst be dismissed the ser- 
 vice of the Lady Margaret, should once thy thoughts 
 be known. Thus I have spoken of St. Julian and the 
 fair Bohemian Lady that fills thy heart with such en- 
 raptured praise. Soldiers in camps should have still 
 tongues, and they will have wise heads. How long 
 hast thou been in the service of Albino's wife ?" 
 
 " Since my great father died, and the Austrian army 
 has been victorious,'' replied Sir Orville. ** My late 
 father, Sir Herbert Faulkner, ser.ved under the com- 
 mand of the Lord Albino : 1 was then but a stripling, 
 and when 1 sought advancement, I was brought to 
 these gothic towers, and told, that I should become 
 the page of Lady Margaret ! and so I have : — ah ! 
 much rather had I been a soldier, and served in shi- 
 ning arms !" 
 
 « Well hast thou said," cried Sir Walter, and 
 shortly shaltthou profit by thy wisdom, and thy seem- 
 ingly valliant disposition ; which, erelong, may be fully 
 
 1 B 
 
ID THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 gratified, shouldst thou leave thy present fortune, to 
 follow those more worthy of a man, and list into the 
 service even of him thy soul so loveth — St. Julian ! 
 Hast thou faith, boy, and confidence ? — thou shalt 
 never repent thy purpose, — answer me !" 
 
 " Faith and confidence ! aye, truly have I, both 1" 
 answered Sir Orville ; " both in St. Julian, and not 
 less in the brave and gallant Sir Walter De Uuthen. 
 I would go hence ; — for while I linger here, there is 
 more peril in the bright presence of a beauteous lady, 
 than were I to face the angry cannon's roar, the 
 sound of trumpets, the clash of swords, er neigh of 
 fiery steeds, A as, there is more danger in one glance 
 from the fair Bohemian maid, than all the perils of war, 
 though e'er so raging.'* 
 
 Sir Walter could not now doubt of the sincerity of 
 the youthful page ; and though he stiil cautiously evad- 
 ed any conversation that might lead to the subject 
 against which he had warned him not to be in- 
 quisitive ; yet he began to be irresistibly charmed at 
 the unaffected display of good humour, and urbanity 
 of manners that nature seemed to have stamped so in- 
 genuously on the countenance of the youthful speaker ; 
 and viewing him with an air of complacency, now 
 perfectly free from restraint, he exclaimed,— 
 
 " Promise me, then, that you will gain me an audi^ 
 ence with the Lady of Albino, when no one else shall 
 intrude upon our privacy : — I have for her secret ear, 
 somewhat of importance. I must speak to the Lady 
 Margaret when no mortal breathing shall listen to our 
 discourse ; promise me this, and, by the honour of 
 a soldier, I promise thee in return, the protection, 
 the friendship, of the great St. Julian ! Thou shalt 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. H- 
 
 shine in valour, boy ; and though the wars are over, 
 and for a while peace waves the banner o'er the head of 
 the mighty conqueror, there will be more battles, and 
 more smiling victoiies ! and you shall share the glories 
 and the pride of martial conquest. If thy young heart 
 so pants for military ardour, (and much I prize thee 
 for it) soon shall a soldier's triumph grace thy brows, 
 and St. Julian advance thee to a soldier's fame V 
 
 " You may command Orville Faulkner in all that 
 I can serve you, with my poor ability," uttered the 
 grateful page. ** I will attempt to forward your wishes, 
 though at the hazard of all I hold dear in existence, 
 Yes, Sir Walter, when the midnight hour shall ad- 
 vance, and all is locked in fast repose in the gothic 
 towers of St. Clair, I will conduct you to the armory, 
 where the Lady Margaret passes some hours in silent 
 meditation o'er the trophies of her buried ancestors ; 
 and where some of the mysteries of this castle are 
 nightly performed, doubtless with her and her emis- 
 saries. I have seen strange things, and heard strange 
 things, since I have been the page of the Lady Mar- 
 garet, truly. Sir Walter ! — but I am forbidden to reveal 
 aught that may discredit the high reputed character 
 of this illustrious lady ! Yet I like not some of her 
 proceedings. She is, 1 fear, the mortal enemy of the 
 great St. Julian." 
 
 '* Thou canst not tell me more of the Lady Margaret 
 than I already know," uttered Sir Walter ; " but St. 
 Julian is beyond the power of his vindictive foes ! a 
 bright meridian star, that foul malignant envy cannot, 
 reach. Cf the mysteries thou hast beheld, they are 
 only mysteries to thee ; to me they are familiar as the 
 spirit who directs them, which, truly, is an evil one. 
 
. 2 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 But let tnis matter pass. I will not question tliee of 
 their import. How bore the Lady of Albino the death 
 of her husband, and the loss of her son'r" 
 
 To which the youthful page replied, — 
 
 '* Oh, it was passing strange, and, indeed, most won- 
 derful, to see the lady, calm and undismayed, even in 
 that fearful hour which makes the stoutest heart to 
 tremble, and the most roseate cheek to blanch with 
 fear ! No tear bedew'd her cheek ! — no heaving sigh 
 sweird her bosom ! — no terrors possess'd her mind I 
 and, while she denounced curses on the head of St. 
 Julian, she wept not — she spoke not of the gallant 
 slain ones! But 4he beauteous Augustina ! ah, how 
 many tears stained that lovely cheek, more fair than the 
 dewy lily on the mountain top, or purer than the alpine 
 snows ere they dissolve, ar^d mix with the grosser sub- 
 stance of the earth. Her blue eyes, (deep as the vio- 
 let's hue, or gently raised from their silken fringes 
 but more resemble the azure canopy of heaven) were 
 cast in silent dejection on the ground, as she listened 
 to the mournful tidings of Albino's fate, and what she 
 loved more than light or life, her young brother, slain — 
 the brave Fernando! Motionless she sat awhile, ab- 
 sorbed in grief, her golden tresses waving in rude 
 negligence, on her fair and open brows-; and while her 
 cherub lips softly murmured forth the name of Fer- 
 nando, her stern mother haughtily repulsed her elo- 
 quent tears, and bade them cease to flow, ^evcr shall 
 1 forget the Lady Margaret, as in accents of reproach, 
 she thus addressed the weep.ng lovely maid : — 
 
 " 1 command you, Augustina, instantly command 
 you, on peril of my extpgme displeasure, to hide these 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 13 
 
 women's tears, and check this woman's weakness 
 which so disgraces the daughter of the great Albino 
 Wherefore weepest thou ? Thy father is slain, and thy 
 brother is also numbered with the dead, that strew Bo- 
 hemian fields, with the blood of many a gallant chief. 
 But hath not thy father, and thy brother, died like 
 heroes ? Feels not thy heart the deathless fame they 
 have acquired, through ages of eternity, in the fields 
 of immortal glory ; and lamentest thou their fall thou 
 weak and puerile maid ? Ah, had I again a husband 
 and a son, so valiant, and so brave, again I would 
 weary heaven with my prayers, that they might thus 
 live — and thus perish ! Timid girl, hadst thou one 
 atom of thy mother's dauntless spirit in thy young bo- 
 som thou wouldst rejoice at a soldier's fall, and mingle 
 tears with rapture among the cypress that shadow his 
 remains 1" 
 
 " But tears are not denied to the suffering and the 
 brave," softly responded the lovely maid ; " and surely 
 my noble mother will not condemn those that nature 
 yields to nature ! Mother, when Lazarus died, whose 
 eye was it that dropt a tear of pity on his grave, and 
 did not place it to ther account of weakness ? It was 
 the blessed Saviour of mankind, who wept for La- 
 zarus ; whose virtues we are taught to emulate, and 
 whose character demands ali human homage, and ex- 
 ceeds aU human praise! Adoring Him, I do not 
 yield to weakness, for I had been weak, indeed, without 
 this blessed knowledge of his divine and holy laws. 
 'Tis said, mother, that the mighty victor of this bloody 
 battle against the Austrian army is again——" 
 
 "" Our mortal foe," fiercely vociferated the 
 
 indignant Margaret. " Thy father's and thy brother's 
 
14 THE MYSTERIES OP «T. CLAIR; 
 
 foe! The accurs'd, the proud St. Julian! He whom 
 I ever hated — ^he whom I still bear mortal hatred io^ 
 and, however famed for warlike deeds, he whom I 
 shall hate for evermore !'* 
 
 ** St. Julian ! St. Julian !" a second time repeated 
 the faultering maid, while for a moment, like the young 
 rosebud of the morning blush'd her lovely face ; yet, 
 paled it as quickly, and as suddenly to an almost 
 deathlike hue ; and there was an infant sigh, just 
 newly born in her transparent bosom ; but soon she 
 sent the little trembler hence ! but the tear that fell on 
 that now pale cheek, was — pity ; and the sigh that 
 wafted from that snowy breast, was love. 
 
 Already had the dark eye of Lady Margaret, glanc'd 
 with rage on her unoffending child ; and, though she 
 heard not the gentle sigh, she mark'd the roseate 
 blush that the name of St. Julian had given birth to. 
 and sternly demanded to know why she had repeated 
 the name of St. Julian ? 
 
 " Why hast thou echoed my words I" exclaimed she, 
 " I said, St. Julian! Why dost thou turn pale at the 
 name of St Julian ; and ask what already thou dost 
 know ?" 
 
 " And should I not tremble at the name of him who 
 inspires all others, with this involuntary fear," timidly, 
 and yet more faulteringly, pronounced Augustina. 
 " And yet, till my mother told me, I did not know that 
 he it was who conducted the allies, and led the forces 
 against my noble father. I did not think St. Julian 
 would have ■ ■*' The Bohemian maid paused, 
 
 and the pause was filled up, without delay, by Lady 
 Margaret. 
 
 — — ^* Have slain thy father, and made thy bro- 
 
/ OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 15 
 
 ther bleed," uttered she. " Be this a memorandum of 
 the unexampled virtue of the great St. Julian ' Trea- 
 sure this in thy memory : the goodly service he has 
 rendered to the daughter of Albino ; who once pre- 
 sumptuously hoped to win thy favour, and woo thee for 
 his bride. But thy father knew better how to appre- 
 ciate the worth of his child, than give thee then to this 
 beardless boy ; (for so St. Julian was, when first 
 beneath the towers of St. Clair, he sighed for Augus- 
 tina.) Scarce fifteen summers then had smiled upon 
 your birth, and you were a wild young laughing girl, 
 and had not learned discretion. 3t, Julian saw, and 
 fancied that he loved the youthful daughter of Albino, 
 for you were frolicsome as the playful kid, and quite 
 as thoughtless, innocent, and free. I do not think the 
 new-born lamb, that sports in the meadow-fields, 
 and drinks the dew of balmy flowers, was ever more 
 innocent of guile than thou, my Augustina ! But soon 
 these girlish hours approached to woman's loveliness* 
 and the sweet conscious blush of maiden modesty re- 
 pressed thy frolics and thy youthful sports : and much 
 thy father feared the pensive sigh, that often broke 
 in midst of thy most joyous smiles, was breathed for 
 the young boy that was the companion of thy infancy. 
 Tell me, daughter, did thy young heart once linger on 
 thy father's foe ? And, tell thy mother truly, did you 
 love St. Julian as much as I fear you did ?'* 
 
 " If what I felt then was so like what I feel now, it 
 could not be termed what love is, dear mother," said 
 the blushing maid ; " for 1 remember, that I ever loved 
 to quarrel with St. Julian for some idle toy, which 
 when he gave it me, I would fain have quarrelled 
 with him again to hear him chide so very prettily I for 
 
16 . THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 he would laugh all the while that I pouted, and tear 
 the flowers that we had gathered by the dewy banks ; 
 and ever and anon he would fling them at me, and en- 
 tangle them in ray hair, and then he would take them 
 
 out again, and I laughed to see him thus ; 
 
 and before night, all our quarrels were forgotten, as 
 though we had none such ! If this be love mother, and 
 you ask me trulv — why then I loved St. Julian." 
 
 *' I am satisfied,'* cried the haughty Margaret, en- 
 deavouring to conceal some sensations that she found 
 it difficult to hide, under the specious mask of hypo- 
 crisy ; while she had so unwittingly drawn this artless, 
 but, to her, terrible <;onfession, from the lips«of„her 
 lovely daughter! *' It was not love you felt for this 
 beardless youth !'» uttered she, " and he no love did 
 ever feel for thee !" 
 
 " What then was it mother?'' cried Augustina, with 
 an air of such resistless naivetteg that stern as Lady 
 Margaret was, she could not help smiling at the smi- 
 plicity of her lovely child. 
 
 " What matters it, what it was then,'* uttered she, 
 relapsing into her usual stern habitude of manner, 
 " or what it is now, since to Albino's daughter St. 
 
 Julian can be nothing ! For mark me, Augustina, 
 
 and beware you do not slight a mother's counsel ; with 
 respect to the state of thy affections, when the gentle 
 dove woos for its mate the ravenous kite, then shall 
 St. Julian wed for his wife, the daughter of Albino ! 
 for sooner would I link thee with the meanest slave, 
 the lowest hireling in thy late father's service, than 
 join thy hand with St. Julian : however far renowned 
 for gallant deeds, — however raised to martial glory ! 
 In the estimation of thy mother, he has fallen, to rise 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 17 
 
 no more. Begone to thy chamber, and hide those 
 flowuig tears which so ill become thee : if they flow for 
 St. Julian, they will never be quenched, though 
 Etna's feery gulph stood between thee and thy affec- 
 tions, for the dauntless hero ! And yet the vilest rene- 
 gade that ever stalked with brazen shield, is not more 
 pernicious in his counsels, more terrible in example, 
 than this upstart conqueror, with all his mighty virtues 
 — this St. Julian I But no more of this dull matter, since 
 thou hast heard, what love I bear him. The Austrian 
 troops, are like to march with hungry stomachs, and 
 empty bowls ! — They have exhausted their stores ; 
 the allies have retreated, an^d their forces are injured ; 
 the wounded soldiers lay in unburied heaps, on the 
 ensanguined plains ; and St. Julian, — the great St. Ju- 
 lian — is unable to answer the clamorous- demands made 
 upon him for fresh supplies. What is the result ? 
 They must apply to me ! yes, to me, his mortal foe ! His 
 haughty spirit, his proud aspiring soul, must yield in 
 meek submission to Margaret, or behold his soldiers 
 perish ; — and perish they shall, before I will lend as- 
 sistance to their wants. E'en now, I wait in hourly 
 expectation, that a herald will be sent from St. Julian, 
 with tierms of entreaty for supplies ; which supplies, 
 they shall be peremptorily denied : — yes, I thank the 
 gods, that this revenge still is Margaret's." 
 
 Not a sentence was spoken from the trembling tips 
 of Augustina ! not a sigh escaped from her lovely heav' 
 ing bosom! in silence she retired to her chamber, and 
 Lady Margaret entered her holy sanctuary ofpi^vate 
 consultations, the armory. I heard no more, Sir 
 Walter." 
 
 " And did you become the voluntary listener of thii 
 
18 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 discourse, between the lady and her daughter ? for, 
 though you heard little, by my good faith, thou hast 
 heard enough, methinks," cried Sir Walter De Ruthen 
 after a thoughtful pause, *^ and more thau thou shouldst 
 have heard, had I been there." 
 
 A deep and crimson blush suffused the face of Sir 
 Orville Faulkner ; and, for a moment, his bright eye 
 glanced indignantly towards the haughty page of St. 
 Julian, while he replied somewhat warmly to his sar- 
 castic speech,— 
 
 " Sir, what I chanced to hear, I have told you 
 truly, and you have little right to blame me for the 
 confidence I have reposed in yo.ur seeming honour. 
 Had I not thought you worthy of such high trust, 1 
 had not been so lavish or discourse. Nor did I listen 
 clandestinely tp^ aught that 1 have heard about St. Ju- 
 lian ! — but there is a closet adjoining to the apartments 
 of my liege mistress, in which I am stationed, by 
 her imperative order, and through which none can 
 pass to the Lady Margaret without my immediate or- 
 der for permission. The sultry heat of summer's noon 
 had occasioned every avenue to that apartment in 
 which the ladies were, at a late hour, so deep in con- 
 verse, to be thrown open, that they might inhale the 
 balmy fragrance of the western breezes, fresh upon 
 them. I was not, therefore, bidden to retire, or I 
 had done so long ere they talked of such high matters 
 as concerned St. Julian. But I had ears, and they 
 could not fail to listen to such a voice as Augustina's, 
 I had eyes, and oh ! who would not have gazed as I 
 did, on such a face, on such a form, as that heaven 
 has stamped on the fair Bohemian maid I" 
 
 ** And, by my sword and buckler, thou must not 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINB. W 
 
 gaze SO wildly,'* cried Sir Walter ; " for wild are the 
 dreams of beauty and of love. Beshrew me ! thou 
 might as well explore the Cretan labyrinth, as search 
 after its fleeting shadows. — Yet, what thou hast 
 heard, treasure up in silence ! shouldst thou reveal 
 what thou hast heard, it* would cost thee dearly. Speak 
 not of the Bohemian maid in the presence of St. Julian 
 as thou valuest life and breath !— It is the only thing 
 he cannot bear to dwell on !'* 
 
 '* Then he loved Augustina, after all that the Lady 
 Margaret has advanced to the contrary !" uttered Sir 
 Orville, with a deep and struggled sigh : " I — I — I 
 humbly crave your pardon for boldly asking such a 
 question." 
 
 " Which I am not bound to answer, and therefore 
 freely pardon thee," bluntly replied Sir Walter. 
 
 Sir Orville coloured deeply, not doubting but St* 
 Julian's page was high in the secrets of the gallant 
 hero ; and, forgetting that he had several times before 
 cautioned him to silence on the subject of St. Julian 
 and the Bohemian Lady ; whom he adored, although 
 in secret sorrow and despair ; (for never could the page 
 of Margaret vainly and presumptuously aspire to 
 the hand or the heart of the daughter of Albino !) 
 yet still he loved, and struggled to conceal his ardent 
 passion for the beautious fair one. 
 
 •f The night doth wear apace, and the grcy-ey'd 
 morning will soon beskirt yon western sky :'* cried Sir 
 Walter, wishing to dispel the gloom which now hung 
 on the fair brows of the pensive page. 
 
 " You err, most gallant, sir/* softly responded he, 
 and opening the casement which emitted the fragrance 
 of the balmy flowers that luxuriantly grew beneath it. 
 
fiO. THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR; 
 
 " It is not yet near morning, although yon shining fir- 
 mament beams so lightly, as it would seem young day 
 was pouring fast upon us ; — yetit is but the silver moon 
 that steals so softly on the lake beneath us : be but pa- 
 tient, and I, will perform my promise. The Lady 
 Margaret in an hour hence will require my attendance: 
 she has supped to-night alone, and seems much dis- 
 quieted ; but her vassals repose in silence, (all but her 
 guards, who watch the postern gates, and they are 
 abroad, and, active in their duty.) The very whisper- 
 ing of the gentle breeze that blows, or the murmur- 
 ing of the waters that lave yon steepy rocks, would 
 alarm them. I will leave you good Sir Walter, for 
 awhile, and return anon." 
 
 *' And I would betake me to rest in these goodly 
 chambers,*' cried Sir Walter, ** but that a soldier never 
 sleeps when on his duty. I have thoughts, none of the 
 pleasantest kind, too, for I dont vastly like the mystery 
 of Margaret's proceedings, 1 promise thee:— .she bade 
 me depart in peace, and then arrests my liberty !'* - 
 
 " For that, you have to thank the pious holy priest 
 who attends her secret councils," uttered Sir Orville, 
 with a contemptuous smile, " he is in high authority, 
 and no one dare dispute it^ on peril of the immediate 
 displeasure of our lady.*' 
 
 *' Indeed !" cried Sir Walter, as if apparently sur- 
 prised by the intelligence which he knew so well before. 
 
 " Yes indeed !" was Sir Orville*s prompt reply. 
 
 "It were well to advance the holy, pious gentle- 
 man a ;70«^ or two higher,** uttered Sir Walter, and 
 smiled. 
 
 •* The roarf to preferment is desirable,'* answered 
 Sir Orville, and smiled too. 
 
OR, MARIETTU MOULINE. 21, 
 
 " Especially that to which he will shortly be con- 
 ducted !" cried Sir Walter, and smiled again. 
 
 But whether the smile was returned again by the 
 page of Lady Margaret, is uncertain, for the castle 
 bell at this precise moment, responded the hour of 
 twelve, and Sir Orville Faulkner retired. 
 
 But, in less than an hour he returned again to Si r 
 Walter, intimating that Lady Margaret was apprized 
 of his wish, to see and converse with her alone ; and 
 that he would then have the honour of conducting him 
 to the armory, where she awaited bis coming. " I will, 
 attend the lady, then," cried Sir Walter, with a sarcas- 
 tic smile : and Sir Orville immediately led him through 
 a suite of gothie apartments, and many antiquated 
 winding passages, before he arrived at the destined 
 place of appointment. There was a solemn still- 
 ness prevailed in the castle of St. Clair, as they 
 reached the entrance of the armory ; and there the 
 page of Lady Margaret stopped. — 
 
 " I must proceed no farther," uttered he, " till the 
 lady has notice of our approach. She will not be in- 
 terrupted in her meditations, at this lonely hour of 
 midnight's fearful gloom.'* 
 
 " Not if the pious priest is with her," uttered Sir 
 Walter, with a look which was almost undefinable to 
 the youthful page. " The purposes of our sacred re- 
 ligion admit no intruder, when the pure heart is of- 
 fered up in secret devotion to the Most High. There 
 we eo'nfess our inmost thoughts, and inmost wishes, 
 and they must be breathed alone, to Him who aloKie 
 has the ppwer of directing all earthly aims — all earthly 
 wishes! where human agency can avail us nothing. 
 The wish, and the thought, and the prayer, must be 
 
32 THE MYSTERIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 preferred to him alone, and, whatever their import, 
 fliey cannot be hidden or concealed. 
 
 The God that searches all hearts will discover them, 
 vhough ten thousand pious priests aid their council, in 
 ^ehalfof our supplications ! And truly 1 have a no- 
 Aon, that their piousexhortations will carry us but a 
 small way on our passage to heaven, if we have no 
 other than their prayers to conduct us thither. Should 
 I turn priest, boy, which 1 do confess, that I am not 
 marvellously fond of, thou wouldst profit by the doc- 
 trine of a rough soldier — wouldst not thou — as well as 
 from the lectures of the pious friend of the lady Margaret. 
 
 Sir Walter laughed as he pronounced this, and in 
 spite of the gravity and the decoriim usually preserved 
 by the youthful page on such occasions, he could not for 
 the life of him, help laughing too. There was a propen- 
 sity to this sensation which he could not conquer, al- 
 though the necessity of preserving decorum was so 
 highly apparent ; and he archly responded to the 
 question of Sir Walter, of 
 
 *' More ceremony yet ?'* 
 
 With, "In this castle of St. Clair, I have learned 
 more ceremony tlian would be necessary at court, for, 
 in approaching the Lady Margaret, she expects the 
 homage that would be offered to a queen, ere you can 
 converse with her." 
 
 -" By the honour of a soldier, thou shalt see what 
 homage she will have from me ;*' cried Sir Walter, 
 " no more than she will expect, — ^much more than she 
 merits." 
 
 At this moment, voices were plainly distinguishable 
 within the armory, and that of the Lady Margaret's 
 seemed somewhat inflated by auger ; for she haughtily 
 pronounced, — 
 
'♦^ , 
 
r. K^tliWell del. i-t 
 
 ^^/y/./// r/'. /!:> W'^M/(^^/?^ade^m:^^}Mu/t/'^^^^^^^ 
 
 yV/ '^^z' / ""^■"^z' ff' 
 
 / 
 
 ?aA 
 
 i.' W'-inhf,. 7fewint7tnrt Butts . 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 23 
 
 " Benvolio ! knowest thou, that what I huve once 
 8aici, I will not unsay, although the great Atlas stood 
 between me and my fixed purpose! I will not brook 
 
 opposition, not even from thee, whom most I " 
 
 A pause ensued, and the voice of Lady Margaret died 
 away in silence ; some one glided from the gothic 
 steps of the armory ; it was the shadow of a male 
 figure, tall and gigantic! 
 
 " That is the signal for our approach,'* uttered the 
 page. " The Lady Margaret has dispatched her noc- 
 turnal visitor, and is now at liberty to receive you. It 
 was the priest, Benvolio, who went hence, and he will 
 return no more : let us, therefore, hasten to the lady, 
 who now expects your coming." 
 
 At this instant, the door of the armory was thrown 
 open, and the Lady Margaret advanced to meet the ' 
 page, and the herald of the great St. Julian ; and, (but 
 that his eye had glanced on things more terrible, and 
 sights more appalling) that which saluted him on his 
 first entrance into this gotnic chamber might have 
 blanched the cheeks of less courageous hearts, with 
 strange and fearful fancies. For there were trophies 
 of departed heroes in abundance lay scattered around 
 this gloomy pile. In mouldering heaps, they exhibited 
 human skeletons, broken lances, swords, bucklers, and 
 shields, helmets, and coats of mail, in one prodigious 
 mass, were piled one upon the other ; while various 
 implements of war, and even death, rendered (as if by 
 design) conspicuous to the eye of the beholder, on his 
 entrance there. A human skull and hour-glass stood 
 on a marble table, and the book of the Holy Scriptures 
 was placed beneath it; over which, was a crimson 
 canopy of the most costly velvet, richly bordered with 
 
 
4 
 
 24 THE MYSTERIES OF 8T, CLAIR; 
 
 gold, and a cushion of the same beneath it» A. couch 
 was also stationed beneath this hallowed spot, from 
 whencfe the Lady Margaret had slowly arisen, to meet 
 the page of St. Julian ; and, with a stately frown and 
 haughty demeanor, she addressed him thus : — 
 
 *< Gallant and brave thou art, although it is thy for- 
 tune to wield thy goodly sword in the serviicc of a proud 
 presumptuous minion — the minion of a race, puerile 
 and weak — blind and infatuated : because the idol 
 whom they worship, hath the form of a godlike hero, 
 and the tongue of soft and smiling eloquence. Thou 
 knowest this. Sir Walter, nor meanly wilt deny, that 
 more St. Julian owes to the goodly graces that adorn 
 his person, than to his martial courage o'er the con- 
 quered troops which now lay scattered on the plains." 
 
 " Save you, gentle lady," uttered Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen, " I came not hither to dispute that point. 
 With abeauteous lady to contend, were beneath a man, 
 unworthy of a soldier ! such sports I leave to beardless 
 boys and pretty women : but by your leave, my noble 
 lady, I have a matter for your private 6ar, in which St. 
 Julian bears no part : 1 beseech you, let your page 
 "etire, and give me audience." 
 
 " First tell me, what that matter doth concern," ut- 
 tered the Lady Margaret, looking on Sir Walter with 
 an eye of dark suspicion. 
 
 To which, St. Julian's page bluntly replied,-— 
 
 " That were to tell thee, lady, ail 1 know : think 
 not I sell my words for courtesy like this. What can 
 the great Margaret fear ? Unarmed I came beneath 
 your battlements to sue for favours : my vassals, only 
 four in number, who attended me hither, now repose 
 in peaceful slumbers beneath your castle walls. They 
 
 ■^^^ 
 
^^ 
 
 OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. tfe 
 
 tvage no war with great Albino's lady I— -or if they 
 did,- --what would it avail ? your guards would do 
 their duty, — and they would needs perish beneath 
 their gallant svv^ords : besides, I wot, my gentle dame, 
 we are your prisoners ! we cannot go hence without 
 your goodly leave ! what can you fear ? Dismiss your 
 page, and give me liberty to speak without reserve, of 
 such things as materially concern you and your pious 
 ^counsellor and friend, that good and virtuous holy 
 man, BenvolioP'' 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 ^* III fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : 
 Princes an4 Lords may flourish or may fade ; 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has made. 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 When once destroyed, can never be supplied." 
 
 GOLDSMIVH. 
 
 NO sooner was the name of Benvolio pronounced, 
 by Sir Walter t)e Ruthen, than an instantaneous 
 change took place in the countenance of the haughty 
 and austere Lady Margaret Albino ; which no art 
 could disguise, no species of hypocrisy could conceal, 
 from the keenly penetrating glance which was now dl- 
 l-ected towards her by St. Julianas page. And she 
 2 D 
 
26 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 who never yet had trembled in the sight of mortal man 
 exhibited signs of yfear— of apprehension— -of shame, 
 (if such it could be called, from the deep tinge of 
 crimson which now flushed on a cheek that otherwise 
 had owned the saffron hue ; for no rose or lily had ever 
 mantled there :)— No, not even in the morning of gay 
 and jocund youth, had Margaret's cheek e'er blushed as 
 it did now, in the presence of this rough, blunt, and 
 hardy soldier ; when tremulously, (for she had not yet 
 recovered her confusion) she demanded to know, 
 " what aught he had to say concerning the pious, holy . 
 man, Benvolio ? who, in these sequestered walls, hath 
 passed a life so sacred and devout, in holy exercises," 
 added she, more warmly, " that no tongue of slander's 
 poisonous breath could e'er have power to touch his 
 bright unsullied excellence ! And, oh, for the sake of 
 my late gallant lord, I prize Benvolio much ; for much 
 Albino loved him. In all his private councils, and af- 
 fairs of state, none would he have so near him as the 
 wise, prudent, holy man— -the virtuous Benvolio! and 
 I, in duty bound, you know, (heaven save me, a poor 
 defenceless woman !) have profited by the example of 
 my dear lord, and chose Benvolio too to direct the 
 agency of all that may concern my deep and lengthened 
 days of sad and sorrowing widovrhood." 
 
 " Gentle dame, and well is he worthy of thy secret 
 councils,' ironically pronounced St. Julian's page, 
 " for, by my sword and buckler, well doth the pious 
 holy gentleman know the advantage he can gain of 
 womankind ! whom, in his doctrines, he hath repre- 
 sented weak and powerless, and unable to direct 
 themselves! It were meet then that the great Mar- 
 garet, whom heaven has endowed so richly with intel- 
 
(HI, MARIETTE MOULINE. 2^ 
 
 lectual gifts, should have so w'rse a counsellor, so 
 sincere a friend.** 
 
 A sarcastic smile too evidently betrayed the vic- 
 tory Sir Walter had gained (although but a mo- 
 mentary one) over the feelings of this proud vindic- 
 tive woman ; and, perhaps, it played too scornfully 
 upon his lip, as he sarcastically pronounced— 
 
 " That pious holy man, whose name, it appears, it 
 is sacrilege to presume to mention in your presence so 
 slightly, shall (if you refuse me audience) quickly know 
 my errand here, and that St. Julian hath naught to do 
 with the affair.'' 
 
 ' " I thought Sir Walter were a petitioner from St. 
 Julian, on matters that concerned the state," responded 
 the indignant lady, " and not a bold intruder from 
 himself: but, since so strongly you solicit to be heard 
 in secret on this mighty business that concerns Beuvolio, 
 (which, as I take it, is but the mere coinage of your 
 idle brain) why 1 will hear you in secret. Faulkner, 
 retire :— -the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthea doth re- 
 quest a word or two of private conference. Retire, 
 then, till again I need your service ; and, mark you, 
 Faulkner, let no one else have access to the armory 
 while he is with your mistress. Go hence awhile, and 
 remember that this order is imperative.'* 
 
 Sir Orville, at the immediate command of his liege 
 mistress, respectfully retired ; and the warrior and the 
 lady of Albino were left together. The one scarcely able 
 to repress the raging tumults that burned high within 
 her breast ; and the other feeling no rage at all ; but 
 there was a placid dignity sat in triumph on his mar- 
 tial brow ; and, truth, the holy monitor that guided every 
 
^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 impulse of his heart, shone in brilliant hues on a set of 
 features, where guile had never worn a mask ! 
 
 " Now to your purport then, and quickly," uttered 
 the Lady Margaret in a stifled tone ; for she felt sen- 
 sations, which to no mortal else she dared reveal ! and 
 in spite of the heroism which marked her dauntless 
 and intrepid character, she feared that the communi- 
 cations wliich Sir Walter De Ruthen had to offer her 
 were not of the most pleasing kind. In the meanwhile, 
 he had (without ceremony) thrown his nodding plumes 
 aside, and seated himself on the couch, exactly front- 
 ing to the indignant lady, where he could boldly take 
 survey of features, which to all others but him, at 
 this critical moment of aiFairs, would have expressed 
 the direst purposes of revenge and cruelty ; and, draw- 
 ing forth a scroll from his vest, he unfolded it. — Al- 
 ready the eye of Lady Margaret had caught the sig- 
 nature : it was the royal seal ! the crest and the arms 
 of the Emperor Josephus ! and she trembled to behold 
 it ; while Sir Walter addressed her in the following 
 terms, not seeming to remark the perturbation she so 
 evidently betrayed. 
 
 " Lady, there hath been some vile proceedings in 
 your battlements,-— some foul mysteries in the Castle 
 of St. Clair, to which it appears, you and your pious 
 friend, the holy father Benvolio, have both been ac- 
 cessary ; and it hath reached the state, and mightily 
 displeased the Emperor Josephus. You are herewith 
 accused of having employed spies against the state, 
 and by bribery and corruption most dishonourable,^ 
 have forced confession from renegades and traitors 
 in the Austrian army and their allies, to plant sedition 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 2ft: 
 
 and enact treachery against their sovereign and 
 their country. And by whose counsel hast thou 
 been guided ? by whose baneful influence have these 
 stratagems succeeded? and whose blood has been drain- 
 ed to effect these diabolical purposes ?---forthe accom-r 
 plishment of that demon, avarice and ambition !— for 
 the completion also of far greater crimes I yet oould 
 name, but shudder to mention : — whose blood, I say, 
 hath been shed to do all this ? and where bath the 
 vengeance fallen ? not on the head of St. Julian ! for 
 of crimes he is innocent. Yon shining firmament 
 of heaven which bespangles the western sky, nor 
 dews that gem the . morning flowers, breathes not 
 more pure, than the unsullied fame of great St. Ju- 
 lian ! It was not he who led the forces of the Austrian 
 army against the Bohemians ; he instigated not their 
 revenge. No, lady, it was not St. Julian who aimed 
 the sword against the breast of your gallant husband 
 and Fernando, the young, the brave, the beautiful, 
 thy only son !— it was not St. Julian who conducted 
 them to the field of slaughter, even as the fell butcher's 
 knife hangs o'er the neck of the innocent lamb he is 
 about to sacrifice. No, not St. Julian led them to the fatal 
 spot ! but you, madam ! you, and your pious friend ! 
 yes, blush to own it, it was that holy man who con- 
 ducted all your stratagems, aided all your councils, 
 and abetted all your schemes ; even he, the crafty, de- 
 signing, artful, mercenary krtave, who, abusing the 
 holy functions of his sacred order, under authority of 
 his high oflice, tramples on all laws, divine and human, 
 and steps forth in the character, which best belongs to 
 him, the murderer of your husbstnd, and the assassin 
 of your son !" , 
 
/ 
 
 30 THE xMYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Surprised by treachery, the great Albino could not 
 escape the vengeance of his foes ! already apprized of 
 his intentions, and acquainted with his designs,--the 
 strength of his army and the weakness of his allies : 
 he could not work impossibilities, and the great hero 
 fell. But whose hand has laid him low ? The pious 
 priest — the good, the virtuous Benvolio ! and the 
 great Margaret ! she who would not scorn to lend a 
 helping hand to do such goodly deeds, nor reject such 
 friendly counsel, though it were to save a nations tears ! 
 But mark the result thou proud and haughty fair oqe : 
 in refusing the supplie* to St. Julian, you do but hurl 
 a mightier ruin on thy head, and that of thy presump- 
 tuous minion. Ere long, thy battlements will crumble 
 into dust — thy fortress be besieged — thy garrison be 
 drained of all its stores, and the lofty towers of St. 
 Clair become a mass of mouldering ruins ! Bohemia 
 will be spread around with famine and dismay ! Its 
 fair and flowery fields, once the pride of the industrious 
 and the smiling peasantry, be exchanged for charnel 
 houses, to cover the bones of their dead and their 
 slaughtered heroes. The meandering streams, once 
 so limpid and so pure, will flow with the innocent blood 
 of millions. All must now yield to the fury and the 
 rage of Josephus. None will be spared : the young 
 virgin, nor the widowed matron — and age and infancy, 
 alike must feel the butcher's knife. Rapin, lust, and 
 murder, will now stalk forth amidst the sacred churches, 
 the holy temples, and the smiling bowers of innocence 
 and beauty ; and none shall have power to send the 
 monsters hence ! Even the bones of thy great and 
 buried ancestors, that repose in silence beneath the 
 venerable cloisters of St. Clair, whatever the distance 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 31 
 
 of time, space, and country, will be dragged fortli to 
 appease a tyrant's fury, and a tyrant's vengeance.'' 
 
 " Hold ! desist, barbarian ! nor hope to drive me 
 frantic, with appalling terrors such as these ; — vain 
 imaginary terrors, which I jneither dread nor fear •»' 
 uttered the Lady Margaret, with all the stormy pas- 
 sions of her soul flashing with indignant fury from her 
 eyes ; " for that which thou hast so boldly ventured to 
 assert, to the discredit of Benvolio and his great au- 
 thority, if is false as heaven is true ! 1 neither know 
 the treachery you speak of, nor the means which have 
 been employed to defeat the purposes of my late gallant 
 lord. The great emperor is deceived, and I am slan- 
 dered falsely, and so is Benvolio ! But, thinkest thou 
 I e'er will tremble at the vengeance of my foes, or 
 meanly sink into womanish fears, with the rough pic- 
 ture thou hast drawn before me. Thinkest thou that 
 Margaret can be frighted with dangers such as these I 
 and that I could not take advantage of this thine in- 
 solent pretences to the great authority, and punish 
 thy bold presuming freedom. One word of mine, and 
 you are my prisoner ;— another word, and my guards 
 would cleave thee down ! Thou never more couldst 
 rise again to tell St. Julian the tale of my dishonour, 
 or, with thy rancorous malice, whisper rumours to the 
 emperor. Beshrew me, it were a goodly act to rob 
 St. Julian of so kind a page, and rid the wars of such 
 a bold-faced ruflian. But yet I will not so, however 
 thou hast provoked a woman's rage, and a woman's 
 patience. These hallowed walls were never stained 
 with murder !" 
 
 At this moment, a raven screamed, and flapped its 
 wings against tlie casement, as though it would burst 
 
32 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 its confines ; and a tall gigantic figure, clad in com- 
 plete armour, whose features were concealed by a deep 
 mask, suddenly darted through one of the vestibules 
 of the armory, and stalked up to the Lady Margaret, 
 while he pronounced, in a low, murmuring, and sepul- 
 chral voice, — 
 
 " This helmet and this shield, this sword and this 
 buckler, are blood-stained, Lady ; with whose blood 
 thou knowest, thou fearless wouian ! Look upon them ! 
 to these hallowed walls they owe their crimson dye ; 
 thou knowest that too. Again I come to warn thee 
 of thy temerity 1-— harm not yon gallant soldier ! whom, 
 even now, 1 heard thee threaten with the loss' of life ; 
 but beware how thou dost him injury ; or, harming him, 
 you will awaken the vengeance of thy mortal enemy. 
 Lady, yon waning moon bids me retire. Farewell, — 
 remember Ferdinand !" 
 
 If astonishment and wonder too great for utterance, 
 had sealed the lips of Sir Walter De Ruthen, when 
 this apparently supernatural being made as precipitate 
 and as sudden a disappearance as he had made an 
 entrance, what were the sensations of the Lady 
 Margaret ? Transfixt she stood as any statue, and 
 motionless 1 her eye glared wildly,---her cheek became 
 colourless, and she murmured, but indistinctly to Sir 
 Walter's ears,— 
 
 " 4^11 this have I borne for thee, Benvolio ; and yet 
 you are not here to comfort me ---to shield me from 
 these appalling terrors too great for woman's courage-- 
 human fortitude to support. Sir Walter De Ruthen, 
 you are the only witness to the appearance of that 
 strange myaterious being who has now approached us 
 from the dark precincts of the mouldering tomb ; to 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 33 
 
 which 1 thought, long ere this, he had been consigned. 
 Speak not of this, gallant Sir Walter, and 1 promise 
 to grant all that you caine hither to demand. Oh, let 
 not to mortal ear what thou hast seen this night be re- 
 vealed, and St. Julian (even though I bear him mortal 
 hatred) shall have the boon he solicits from Margaret! 
 — the supplies — the ammunition--- the keys of the 
 fortress-— all, all, that the castle of St. Clair affords 
 save only one thing, which it is impossible for me to 
 grant, — my daughter. He demands her hand. Sir 
 Walter, (if you know it not) in the terms of negotia- 
 tion, and the bond of amity which he would have hence- 
 forth established between us. But the hand of Augus- 
 tina 1 cannot grant ; though it were to save a sinking 
 nation from the gulph of devouring flames, I cannot 
 give the daughter of Albino to St. Julian !" 
 
 " And wherefore canst thou not ?" demanded Sir 
 Walter, bluntly- " Who is more worthy than the 
 youthful conqueror to become the husband of the beau- 
 teous maid, whom he adores as holy pilgrims love the 
 shrine they worship : and thou knowest well thy 
 daughter loves St. Julian, too ! Cross not two fond 
 devoted hearts, then ; it is a crime most heinous in a 
 parent, Lady Margaret, to turn the tide of strong af- 
 fections, when they flow so pure, so chaste, so honoura- 
 ble ; and it were Unseemly in a woman not to feel for 
 woman's love. Thwart not thy young daughter, — 
 doom not the rose to wither on her blooming' cheek 
 ere half its smiling sweetness be expanded, or its beau- 
 ties known." 
 
 Although concealed rage sat on every sfrongly 
 marked feature of the haughty Margaret, there was a 
 necessity to hide it from the observation of St. Ju- 
 2 E 
 
34 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 Han's page. Assuming, therefore, an air of compla- 
 cency, she exclaimed, in an unsteady voice, — 
 
 '* And knowest thou not, my good Sir Walter, that 
 long hath the daughter of Albino been beyond the pow- 
 er of such a passion as you so strongly paint ; and if 
 her young bosom ever felt an influence in favour of the 
 mighty conqueror, (and I do not know she ever did) 
 it was in the laughing hours of her girlish in- 
 fancy ; and he a beardless boy was only then. But, 
 know ye not, since which, her vows have been offered 
 up to the holy church, and that she is sacred, for ever- 
 more a spotless virgin saint to that blessed sanctuary ! 
 My daughter is not mine, — therefore, Sir Walter, she 
 is the child of Heaven ! And wouldst thou have her 
 mother tear her thence ? Can I profane the holy tem- 
 ple, or bid the maid recal those vows of chastity she 
 has offered up, so pure, so holy. No, — surely. Sir 
 Walter, thou wouldst not have me act so basely — so 
 treacherously — so profanely." 
 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen knew the hypocrite that was be- 
 fore him, and that what she attested was false ; or, that 
 if such was the conversion of the Bohemian maid, that 
 it had been too sudden to be lasting or sincere; or, that 
 she had been frighted by her stern mother into com- 
 pliance with her wishes, aided by the false, pernicious 
 doctrines of the canting priest. In short, Sir Walter j, 
 placed no reliance on the idle tale ; and resolved, if 
 possible, by some pretext or other, to prolong his stay 
 in the castle of St Clair till he should form some stra- 
 tagem to see and consult with Augustina ; to tell her of 
 the unabated passion which still inspired thebreastof the 
 youthful conqueror towards her ; to gain some intelli- 
 gence of her secret sentiments on the subject of that pas- 
 
OiR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 35 
 
 sion, and, if she loved St. Julian, to draw from her artless 
 bosom a confession of that love, and with it some token, 
 that he might bear the precious relic to the far distant 
 and sorrowing youth, who would then boldly achieve 
 some mighty deed in arms to obtain in marriage the 
 so long loved idol of his virtuous affections. 
 
 But with these intentions he determined to acquaint 
 no one, till he could form some reasonable pretext for 
 remaining beneath the roof of St. Clair, till at least he 
 could obtain a sight of the Bohemian lady ! and no 
 pretext appeared so feasible, as by entering immedi- 
 ately into all the sentiments, and adopting all the 
 plans of the haughty Margaret, and her minion, the 
 crafty Benvolio. Thanks to Providence, they were al- 
 ready in his power, and one of the mysteries in the 
 castle of St. Clair, had that night, in the armory, 
 fortunately presented itself in the form of the blood- 
 stained knight, who had acknowledged to Margaret, 
 that he had sustained deep injuries there ; and had 
 used a mode of expressing and revealing them, most 
 likely to shame her dauntless spirit, and to humble her 
 haughty soul ; and she trembled, lest the apparently 
 supernatural being should reveal more of her crimes, 
 and the dark deeds which had been performed beneath 
 her battlements in the presence of St. Julian's page : 
 but before whom he had already revealed too much ; 
 and she was therefore obliged to adopt the unwilling 
 necessity, which this unlooked for circumstance impe- 
 riously imposed on her, — to demand his secresy ! and 
 Sir Walter, in order to aid his own newly formed plans 
 respecting Augustina, faithfully promised her that it 
 should remain in silence. 
 
 '^ Lady, I am no idle babbler of idle tales, although 
 
# 
 
 36^ tHE MYSTERIES OF ST. tJLAiR ; 
 
 you deem me such," uttered he, " I shall utter aothing 
 that aught concerns yon blood-stained knigsht, wha 
 hath, I own, somewhat mysteriously appeared to night 
 in this gothic chamber. But let the matter pass : — I 
 will not trouble you with interrogatories about him, 
 since so well you seem to know his history. Mention 
 him no more ; and 1, the knight, nor yet his grievance, 
 will no more repeat to thee." 
 
 " Thanks, most gallant Sir Walter,'* answered the 
 Lady Margaret; her features now losing much of 
 their haughty and inflexible expression towards him, 
 so lately repulsed by her with disdain ;— " thanks, gal- 
 lant Sir Walter : beshrew me, thou wilt not fare 
 the worse for this goodly turn to Margaret. And 
 ere to morrow's sun again has set on these gothic 
 towers, a safe and speedy convoy shalt thou have to 
 thy mighty master, with all appliances and means to 
 boot, from the rich and plenteous stores that in this 
 castle have owned as yet no lordly power over them 
 but the great Albino 1 yet 1 will yield them to the ser- 
 vice of the famished troops, although I had resolved 
 I would not lend relief to any that served under St. 
 Julian ! But — but — in truth, it were a woman's 
 resolution, for well thou knowest, that we have sickly 
 fancies, and inconstant minds ; and I grieve, the 
 mighty conqueror should so settle his affections on my 
 young daughter. I grieve, too, that she should have 
 taken her vows so lately I" 
 
 "And, perhaps, so rashly," bluntly observed Sir 
 Walter : *' but since it is so, lady, it were useless to 
 lament it, if thou thinkest the maid has done so wisely, 
 so virtuously ; thou canst not change the colour of 
 her fate, neither can St. Julian." With this an- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULlNfe. 37 
 
 SWer, the Lady Margaret was perfectly satisfied. 
 And now entreating Sir Walter to take some repose, 
 summoned her page to conduct him to the chamber, 
 which had before been prepared for his reception 
 there ; and with which request he immediately com- 
 plied, not a little rejoiced that he had already achieved 
 two points so favourable to his wishes, with the 
 haughty Margaret, and the interest of his illustrious 
 master. The one to enable St. Julian to recruit the 
 exhausted spirits of his nearly famished soldiery; — and 
 the other, that he had blinded this crafty and subtle 
 woman to the real nature of his designs, while he so- 
 journed at the castle of St. Clair ; to aid which, the 
 assistance of the youthful page would be highly ne- 
 cessary : but how to trust him ? that was a fearful 
 and a doubtful point to be considered where affairs 
 were so truly critical. He might immediately betray 
 him to Margaret, aud then the interest of St. Julian 
 would be lost for ever I the safety of his own life be 
 endangered, and the lovely Bohemian maid be in- 
 stantly sacrificed to stern and parental authority, and 
 fanatic superstition ! Yet Sir Orville Faulkner ap- 
 peared to have qualities about him of an open, fair, ins 
 genuous, and candid nature, that would disdain to 
 act the whining hypocrite, or the false dissembling 
 traitor ! True, appearances greatly preponderated in 
 his favour ; but what have appearances to do with the 
 heart of man, or woman either ? 
 
 When in the words of the immortal bard : — 
 
 " Our own doubts are traitors, 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win, 
 By fearing to attempt it." 
 
38 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 And Sir Orville Faulkner was also swayed by the 
 mightiest passion that rules the breast of mortal man - 
 He was in love ! and sighed for the possession of the 
 fair Bohemian maid, himself : and although that pas- 
 sion was entirely hopeless in his youthful breast, yet 
 the resignation of so lovely a creature to a rival so 
 powerful as St. Julian, was certainly a thought which 
 could not be accompanied with any pleasurable sensa- 
 tions ; for it was possible that hope, the false delusive, 
 yet still enchanting flatterer, had whispered in the ear 
 of the youthful page, that Augustina, constantly in her 
 society as he was wont to be, in the apartments of her 
 lady mother, had glanced towards him with an eye of 
 pity, for she had long been sensible of the deep pas- 
 sion she had inspired, and there were peculiar times, 
 when he fancied that his assiduities were not unwel- 
 come to the lovely maid. 
 
 How then could Sir Walter disclose to Sir Orville 
 Faulkner the design he had in contemplation on the 
 daughter of Albino, without placing himself complete- 
 ly in his power? Yet, without the assistance of Sir 
 Orville, it were next to a total impossibility, that this 
 design could succeed ; he knew not in what part of 
 the castle the grand apartments were situated, and 
 although a lovely range of gardens opened on his 
 view, beneath the casements of the gothic chambers, 
 which had been appropriated for his use, and that 
 there, it was probable to suppose, that Augustina 
 sometimes walked, to inhale the freshness of the bal- 
 my air. Yet to approach her with a stranger's bold 
 familiar gaze, was not the way most likely to attract 
 the attention of the lovely creature, whose maiden 
 paodesty would instantly take the alarm, and she wouW 
 
OR, IVIARIETTE MOULINE. 39 
 
 shuii him evermore ; — while detection and dismission 
 from the castle would be the immediate consequence 
 of his rash temerity. 
 
 After some moments, therefore, of mature conside- 
 ration, Sir Walter determined to make a confidant of 
 the youthful page by cautious degrees, ore he unfold- 
 ed the whole of his intentions respecting the Bohemian 
 lady, whom to save from the claws of a blind in- 
 fatuated and fanatic priest, he would run some risk. 
 After this resolve, the harrassed mind of the care- 
 worn gallant soldier felt considerably relieved, and he 
 endeavoured to snatch a few moments of repose, on 
 the sumptuous couch of crimson velvet, which the at- 
 tendants, who had long withdrawn themselves, had 
 duly prepared. 
 
 But though to sleep Sir Walter was but little in- 
 clined, yet the silence of the midnight hour, with 
 every object around him still and tranquil possessed 
 an influence, if not a charm, over his senses ; and, for 
 a short space, he closed his eyes in utter forgetfulness 
 of his situation. 
 
 The sultry heat of the weather had that day been in- 
 tense, and the casements were purposely left open to 
 admit the cooling breeze, which at this hour of mid- 
 night usually prevails. A blue etherial sky, and a 
 bright moon, nearly at the full, threw its silvery rays 
 on the dark pines that shaded, in various directions, 
 the lofty and gothic towers of St. Clair ; while buds of 
 fragrant flowers, half opening to salute the first blush 
 of roseate morning, yielded their incense and sweeten- 
 ed all the air. 
 
 At this moment, when all nature had seemed to have 
 sunk in soft and gentle slumber, and Sir Walter, in 
 
40 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 truth, slept most profoundly, a rude little butterfly, (as 
 if weary of sipping the dews of the balmy flowers, and 
 cloyed even with too much variety) found its way into 
 the casement, and, without ceremony, fluttered around 
 the couch where the warrior lay sleeping. At length, 
 more bold and familiar grown, it perched upon his lip, 
 and thus suddenly awoke him from his transient 
 slumber. 
 
 " Little robber !" uttered he, gently fanning it away, 
 but not to hurt it, " knowest thou not thou hast pro- 
 voked my vengeance ? but go hence, and I will give 
 thee liberty, as sweet, no doubt, to butterflies as men : 
 and, ah, who can tell, if thou hast not thy feelings too, 
 as well. Thou art as roving and as inconstant ; in 
 that, at least, thou resemhlest mankind.'* 
 
 So, moralizing and smiling all the while at the little 
 trembler that he had taken prisoner in his hand, he ap- 
 proached the casement to set it free ; and gently draw- 
 ing the transparent drapery of the curtains aside, be- 
 held the shadow of two females gliding to a bower, o'er- 
 canopied with roses, in which they presently seated 
 themselves, with the calmest composure possible, per- 
 fectly unconscious, no doubt, that at this moment 
 they had any witness of their actions but the bright 
 shining firmament above them, or the dew-dropping 
 flowers that scented the air with their balmy sweetness, 
 There was a stately owl that nightly took her station on 
 the battlements ; but, as no one went near to disturb her 
 " ancient solitary reign," of which she had the entire 
 possession, she was no interruption to the conversa- 
 tion which in a few minutes took place between the two 
 ladies; both of whom were clad in snowy vestments, 
 and both were certainly young, if not beautiful : for 
 
K>^i 
 
 i^^ 
 
 /y^X/yy^'S€> 
 
 ^^^tH^^^^' *''''**- 
 
 
OR, MARIRTTE MOULINE. A» 
 
 the melody of the night warbling bird that pours its 
 tuneful song upon the ravished ear, had not more 
 sweetness in the sound than both these female voices 
 had to the listening ear of Sir Walter De Ruthen. 
 
 Yet, they were so deeply veiled, that he could only 
 discern, as the rays of the i bright beaming moon fell 
 on the white dresses in which they were clad^ that, they 
 were females of exalted rank, but tlie features of each 
 were hidden from his view ; and,' -softly letting the 
 curtain fall in the same direction as it was before, that 
 he might not be observed, he applied his ear close 
 to the casement, and caught, at different intervals, 
 the subject on which they were convei'sing, although 
 it was conveyed in low and whispering sentences : 
 yet the name of St. Julian was audibly pronounced 
 by one of them, and in the following manner : — 
 
 '* Oh ! my Antoinette ! friend of my bosom ! sister 
 of my earliest dawn of youthful infancy ! how do I 
 grieve to tell you of my mother's cruelty — of my mo- 
 ther's injustice towards St. Julian ! Ah, how my heart 
 pants to redress his wrongs ; how my tongue swells 
 with rapture at his praise. But, oh, Antoinette, would 
 you think that my mother has this day denied him suc- 
 cour or assistance in his so perilous and forlorn state — 
 she has refused the supplies he has so humbly implor- 
 ed for the exhausted troops, that lay expiring on the 
 ensanguined plains — 'even to the brave herald, his 
 faithful page, Sir Walter De Ruthen, whom he sent 
 hither, to entreat her friendship and her assistance. 
 Oh, my Antoinette, how doth my heart melt with 
 pity, and yet how unable am I to help his cause. 
 She questioned me, sternly too, on the love I bore for 
 St. Julian ; and wondered much that our young 
 2 F 
 
42 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 hearts should e'er be twined together, or I for him 
 should ever breathe a sigh : me, who loved St. Ju- 
 lian more thau the light of heaven ; and my dear fa- 
 ther warranted this affection. 1 was taught to love ' 
 St. Julian, long ere I knew the name of love ; and 1 
 have treasured him so dearly in my virgin bosom, that 
 I think my heart will shortly break, if I never more 
 behold him. Benvolio, too, the holy priest, whose 
 counsels and whose friendship my mother so reveres,-^ 
 he tells me, it is a crying sin to heaven to think of 
 love ; but I have thought that heaven was more kind, 
 than to punish me for what I could not help ; for I 
 no more could help loving St. Julian, than I could 
 help loving thee, ray Antoinette, though the love I 
 bear for him, and thee, are widely different. And, 
 know you not what my mother and the holy father 
 have been commanding me ? Dost thou not know the 
 promise I have partly made them, to become a vir- 
 gin saint, and pass my life in holy exercises, in the se- 
 questered bowers of the convent of 
 
 MARIETTE MOULINE ?»' 
 
 A death-like silence for some minutes prevailed, 
 unbroken even by the voice of the whispering wind, till 
 a response was at length mournfully made by the com- 
 panion of the beauteous daughter of Albino, the Lady 
 Augustina ; for that it was she, t?ir Walter could no 
 longer doubt. 
 
 " A virgin saint in the bowers of the convent of 
 Mariette Mouline ! Almighty powers I and do I 
 hear you rightly ? and will my Augustina sign her 
 passport to misery, for mockery like this ? Doth hea- 
 ven require such sacrifices as these, for the security of 
 virtue ? Are there, then, no bounds but an utter renun- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 43 
 
 Giation of all the blessings — of all the comforts— that 
 heaven, in its goodness, hath given and provided for 
 all earthly creatures ; the birds of the air, the beasts of 
 the field, the fishes that swim in the wide expanse of 
 ocean, — do they not all enjoy the privileges and the 
 sweets ofnatare? and, thinkest thou, to man or wo- 
 man it is denied ? or, that they should hide them in 
 holy convents or religious sanctuaries, (so falsely 
 termed) to fly from the exercisesof virtue and huma- 
 nity, for which performance, in the active duties of 
 public life, there is more glory to be achieved, and a 
 brighter crown will be prepared, than in holy cloisters, 
 or canting whining sophistry of cold nuns, or false 
 dissembling priests ? Heed them not, then, I charge 
 you, my Augustina, nor sell thy youthful beauties for 
 hypocrisy like this ; heaven hath made thee for more 
 goodly purposes. Thou art young and beautiful, and 
 what is more praise-worthy than either youth or beauty, 
 thou art virtuous, and thy young bosom knows no 
 guileful passions ! Why then should Augustina shun 
 that world she was born to adorn ? Believe me, thou 
 wouldst wrong thyself, and the mighty conqueror 
 who adores thee still, shouldst thou once consent to 
 become the voluntary slave of such a sacrifice/' 
 
 " But, Antoinette, I have promised it to my mother, 
 and Benvolio !" now uttered, in breathless accents, 
 the affrighted maid. 
 
 " Then thou hast promised what thou canst never 
 perform !" responded her companion ; " or, if per- 
 forming, thou art condemned, through ages of eternity, 
 to suffer for thy rash vows. Hear me, Augustina, ray 
 beloved, in the lonely hour of midnight's fearful gloom, 
 I rise, as from the precincts of the mouldering tomb, to 
 
44 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 visit thee^ and to counsel thee against thy foes. My 
 nourdered Ferdinand is buried beneath the battlements 
 otf these walls : he was a vassal of thy great father's, 
 and I was high in confidence with thy noble mother, 
 then but a young maid, when Ferdinand first whis- 
 pered his tale of love to me. 
 
 Thy mother, as with thee, would oft beguile my 
 ear. of men's treachery towards our helpless sex, and 
 fain would havC; had me enter the walls of the holy 
 sanctuary, (for such they call it) to shun the embraces 
 of Ferdinand ; but; I disdained the vile hypocrisy 
 they practised to deceive me, and, I married Ferdinand, 
 in spite of all their arts. Thy mother, Augustina, 
 never forgave me for disobeying her high authority, 
 and I fled with my husband to avoid her anger. Re- 
 mote, far in the wilds of Bohemian plains, I passed a 
 life of peapeful bliss, in the arms of him who adored 
 me, till the ruthless war broke out, and drove me 
 frantic, ^oundin the service of the Emperor Josephus, 
 pay husband left me, to apjourn in foreign climes,— 
 to wield his sWord in the service of his sovereign and 
 his country. Alas i .my sweetest lady, thou knowest 
 then my woes began : Ferdinand unwillingly fought 
 against your noble father, the great Albino ! but he 
 was taken prisoner, and brought hither. In vain I 
 sought to obtain an interview with my wretched husband, 
 but that was peremptorily denied ; and, ah, I grieve to 
 say, it was thy haughty and vindictive mother that 
 refused this request to a wretched wife. I saw not 
 Ferdinand, nor was granted permission to enter these 
 walls, till tqld that he had fallen in battle, under 
 the allied forces of your noble father. At your inter- 
 cession, thou lovely kind-hearted maid, thy mother 
 
, OR^ MARIETTE MOULIME. 45 
 
 granted me her protection, and I co^me here a discon- 
 solate widow, to attend, as a menial servant, in her 
 household concerns ! at the thought, I spurned ! but 
 my humble fortunes tempted me to accept of it/' 
 
 " And blest was the hour that you did so for my 
 sake, my dearest Antoinette,*' cried the daughter of 
 Albino ; " for, till you came, I had no companion — 
 no friend to whom I could unburden my sorrows, or 
 impart my secret griefs ; and you are the only one 
 to whom my mother will intrust me.'' 
 
 " And yet, I have had such fearful dreams — such 
 dreadful foreboding dreams about my Ferdinand, that 
 1 would fain suspect he was hardly used.'' 
 
 " And why thinkest thou so, my Antoinette ?" ut- 
 tered Augustina, in a tremulous and faultering accent. 
 " Thy late gallant husband, as I have heard, perished 
 in the wars : — at least, I have heard my mother say so. 
 And hath not my great father and my brother perished 
 also ? In the battle's heat have they not both fallen ?" 
 
 " True, it hath been said so," uttered the now 
 weeping Antoinette. " Thy father and thy brother 
 died in valiant glory ; but a different tale has reached 
 my ear of my lost Ferdinand, in which, thy mother 
 and the priest, Benvolio, has had some share. But 
 let this matter pass, I will not grieve thy young heart 
 with such appalling terrors. I have heard such tales, 
 that in this gothic castle have been performed, as 
 would blanch thy roseate cheek with fear, were I to 
 reveal them. — Didst thou hear last, night where they 
 bestowed the page of St. Julian ? a goodly warrier, 
 they say, — a most gallant soldier !" 
 
 *' No," softly replied Augustina ; ** but I know that 
 
46 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 he, in converse with my mother, did tarry late, and in 
 the armory." 
 
 " And how didst thou know that ?" enquired, cu- 
 riously Antoinette. *' I doubt thy mother's page, Sir 
 Orville Faulkner, hath, of late, assumed a liberty of 
 speech he never dared avail him in thy great father's 
 time. Beware of him, my Augustina : I do not like 
 his flattering looks, — far less, his flattering tongue." 
 
 " 'Twas not ray mother's page that informed me 
 that Sir Walter De Ruthen was with her in the ar- 
 mory," rejoined Augustina ; <^ it was the holy father, 
 Benvolio ; and much he feared that my mother would 
 be surprised by treachery, while in council with St. Ju- 
 lian's page, and bade the guards to be alert and vigi- 
 lant, in case such danger should be apprehended : but 
 I did not hear of any. Although they were long in 
 conference^ they parted in peace and amity. I wonder 
 much what Sir Walter said of St. Julian that made 
 my mother so start, Antoinette ; for, when 1 went to 
 ask her blessing, as is my wonted custom, ere I retire 
 to my chamber for the night, I found her pale and 
 motionless — her eyes upraised to heaven, and humid 
 with a tear 1 My mother doth not often shed tears, An- 
 toinette : she wept not at my great father's death I 
 no, nor ray dear brother slain !" 
 
 " Nor would she weep had she ten thousand sons and 
 gallant husbands slain!" responded Antoinette. " Some 
 other grief than. loss of them has stirred her complex- 
 ion, and made her heaving bosom swell with sighs. 
 Yet, it is strange she should so have parted with Sir 
 Walter, and denied the succour he implored for St. 
 Julian. Something, I wot, has passed between them 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 47 
 
 that hath a reference to the state. Thy noble father and 
 the Emperor Josephus were in bonds of amity till the 
 Austrian army planted thorns between them, and the 
 feudal wars broke out against him, and then he de- 
 nounced vengeance on all thdse who had opposed his 
 great authority, and murmured at his laws. And all 
 but the then young St. Julian were dismissed from 
 their offices of state in the court of Vienna ; he alone 
 gained the favour, and won the affections of the mighty 
 emperor ; and, but that he refused the hand of the 
 Princess Geraldine, he had swayed the emperor still." 
 " How I Antoinette," uttered the daughter of Al- 
 bino, in a yet more faultering accent ; " and was this 
 the cause that St. Julian was dimissed the service of 
 the emperor ? You much surprise me by the intelli- 
 gence ; yet delight, and fill my soul with rapture at 
 the confirmation of St. Julian's love for his Angus- 
 tina!" 
 
 " Which you would repay with eternal banishment, 
 and eternnl misery !'* echoed Antoinette. " Thou 
 wouldst consecrate, to the cold convent's gloom, and 
 the cloistered cells, those smiling beauties, and those 
 youthful charms, which to Julian only should belong. 
 Augustina, as thou valuest life — and what isfar dearer 
 than life itself, thy truth, thy honour — take not the 
 holy vow 1 Enter not the convent of Mariette Mouline ! 
 from which, thou canst never more be free. Thy young 
 bosom shut out from all earthly enjoyments — all social 
 and endearing ties — all kind and tender interests — and 
 all the residue of thy future days present one dreary 
 blank ! Lost to thyself, and to St. Julian, — irrevoca- 
 bly lost for ever !" 
 
4S THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " There*s a bower of Roses by Bendemeer's si ream. 
 And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; 
 In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream. 
 To sit inthe roses and hear the bird's song. 
 
 , ,,7n^at bower and its >iBi:|«i€, I never forget. 
 But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year, 
 I think, — is the nightingale singing there yet ? 
 Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer ?" 
 
 Moore. 
 
 " IN pity, Antoinette, do not fright me with such 
 foreboding terrors, and appalling fears," softly, yet 
 mournfully replied the beauteous Augustina. *' I will 
 not take the holy vows my mother so entreats m^Bj for 
 all the riches that Bohemia boasts, since still St. Ju- 
 . lian Ipves me with a zeal so fervent. But, how— how 
 shall I avoid the pressing solicitation of my mother, and 
 the stern and angry lectures of the holy father, Bepvo- 
 lio ? To-morrow, when I shall attend the holy father, 
 h^ will, expect, nay positively demand, my final an- 
 sju^er to hi.s.pious exhortations ; and when, in the pre- 
 sjence of my lady mother, he will more boldly assert 
 the privileges of his holy functions, and the high au- 
 thority wjth which she has, since the death of ray npMe 
 father, so greatly invested hitoi. Say then, my An- 
 toinette, when trembliig before my mother, and she 
 
 M^ 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 49 
 
 sternly demands to have an ingenuous confession of 
 my secret thoughts, how shall I dissemble ? ah, teach 
 me how to be a hypocrite ! 
 
 " Then should I teach thee falsely, and the worst 
 of hypocrites should I be then 1" uttered Antoinette, 
 in a voice at once spirited and decided. " No, my 
 Augustina! Truth is a holy monitor, and when we 
 turn aside from her warning voice, our path of life 
 becomes bewildered with thorns : fear not thy mother, 
 nor yet the crafty priest, in following the impulse 
 tliat reason bids thee seek, without a monaent's pause ; 
 and tell them boldly, you will never take the holy vow. 
 Be resolute and firm, — implore of heaven the aid you 
 will require, and though the earth shall shake from 
 its foundation, you will be secure in a pure unruffled 
 conscience, and pitying angels carry your petition into 
 that court, where justice — mercy never is denied. 
 I must leave* thee, Augustina, already doth the roseate 
 morn appear in yon blue ethereal sky : the guards too, 
 ere long, will relieve each other on the weary watch ; 
 we must not be surprised together, but at early matins 
 we will meet again ; till then, my love, may all good 
 angels visit thy repose ! remember my counsel, and 
 farewell ! 
 
 " Farewell, dearest Antoinette," softly and mourn- 
 fully responded the beauteous daughter of Albino, 
 and cautiously stealing from the bower of roses, 
 they separated, leaving Sir Walter De Ruthen charm- 
 ed with the artless simplicity of the one, and the noble 
 and frank ingenuous disposition of the other ; and 
 more firmly resolved than ever, to snatch the lovely 
 Augustina from the impending danger which sur- 
 rounded her, and the destiny which awaited her, if 
 3 G t 
 
50 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 she listened to the persuasions of the crafty priest, or 
 was frighted into compliance, by the arbitrary wishes 
 of her stern mother : he longed most impatiently for 
 the return of morning, that he might hold some pri- 
 vate conference with the youthful page, Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, and inform him of the perilous situation of 
 the great Albino's daughter. If she remained beneath 
 the Castle of St. Clair, a few hours hence would seal 
 her fate, and this beauteous creature would become 
 the victim of blind superstition and unrelenting paren- 
 tal authority ; which her timid nature, and artless un- 
 suspecting disposition would not be able to resist 
 against such powerful assailants, opposed to her inex- 
 perienced youth and innocence. They would compel 
 her to take the holy vow, at which she revolted, but 
 from which, after having taken it, she could never 
 be absolved, and thus she would be lost to St. Julian! 
 lost to herself! and irrecoverably lost to that world 
 she was formed to adorn ! It is true, that the friend 
 and confidant of Augustina had spoke of the Lady 
 Margaret's page but slightingly, — but, it was possi- 
 ble that she imagined he was gaining ground in the 
 opinion of his imperious mistress ; and that, in conse- 
 quence, he might use every eflfort in his power, to ob- 
 tain the notice of this lovely unsuspecting maid, to 
 listen to his vows of adoration, and thereby possess an 
 influence which Antoinette, by no means, wished him 
 to be in possession of; and, therefore, it was no wonder 
 that she exerted all her eloquence and rhetoric in order 
 to prevent the fatal consequences which would result 
 by her lovely friend placing too much confidence in 
 the friendship of so youthful and handsome a coun- 
 sellor as Sir Orville Faulkner. 
 
OU, MARIETTE MOULINE. 51 
 
 For the graces which adorned the person of this 
 young man, added to the seemingly virtuous propen- 
 sities of his disposition, would have deceived one of 
 far more discernment and experience, than the daugh- 
 ter of Albino — so artless, and pure of thought, that 
 whoever told her a flattering tale, she believed ! Per- 
 haps it was the knowledge that Antoinette had gained 
 of this disposition in her lovely friend, that had cau- 
 tioned her against any persuasive argument, used to 
 draw her from her duty, or induce her to listen to his 
 solicitations. 
 
 But Antoinette was a woman, and an injured woman, 
 not only from the treacherous arts of her own sex, but 
 deceived by the false dissembling arts of the other; and, 
 with respect to her husband, whom she called Ferdi- 
 nand, Sir Walter De Ruthen had not the least doubt 
 remaining on his mind, but that the blood-stained 
 knight, who had that evening so mysteriously made 
 his appearance in the armory while he was in confer- 
 ance with the Lady Margaret, had been murdered 
 in the Castle of St. Clair, for he had not the appear- 
 ance of a mortal being; and, however averse Sir Wal- 
 ter was to credit the report of supernatural appear- 
 ances, the figure of the blood-stained warrior, and the 
 effects which it produced on the Lady Margaret, made 
 him somewhat stagger in the belief that an influence 
 did not prevail at peculiar times, and also, directed by 
 supreme agency, that they should appear in the pre- 
 sence of such persons, by whom they had suffered such 
 wrongs asL could not bfe appeased or revenged, but by 
 the timely warning they had given them of their 
 crimes ! 
 
 It was a fearful and a doubtful point, however, with 
 
52 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Sir Walter to contend with the reality of such a circum- 
 stance, and so involved in dark and impenetrable mys- 
 tery, that he left it to an after-time to reveal it. Yet 
 it had been such as had never occurred to him before : 
 he had faced the cannon's mouth, and had seen, and 
 been familiar with the forms of death, approaching him 
 with the most appalling terrors — he had slept beside 
 warriors drenched with human gore, and whose last 
 expiring sigh had been breathed on his bosom in that 
 awful and tremendous hour of all human sufferings — 
 a soldier's grave ! whose short-lived moments would 
 scarce admit of uttering farewell to all his loved com- 
 panions in the field of martial glory, (so termed) 
 e'er he closed his eyes for ever on all martial exploits, 
 on all martial fame, and where little could avail him 
 of all his gallant deeds, if none besides had recom- 
 mended him to the throne of mercy ! 
 
 Men are sent hither to act like men, and it matters 
 not, whatever their callings or their occupations, while 
 they perform the duties of humanity, and answer the 
 great and grand purpose for which they were designed ; 
 and he who does this conscientiously,'is, although placed 
 in the most abject and humblest station of life, as 
 great and as acceptable as the monarch seated on a 
 throne. All this Sir Walter knew, nor valued him- 
 self upon the gallant actions he had performed, where 
 the duties of his profession called him to the field : he 
 'Klid not place his glory there, or suppose that there 
 was more merit to be ascribed to him for his being a 
 soldier, than if he had been born a peasant ; for he 
 well knew, that whether in the most exalted station 
 of life, or in the most lowly, that 
 
 " Honour and shame from no condition rise : 
 Act well your part! there all the honour lie» !" 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOILINE. oS 
 
 Thus he considered all states, all ranks of life equal to 
 his own, and wondered much that men should value 
 themselves so much upon the pride of ancestry, or the 
 exalted sphere in which they moved ; when a breath 
 would make them, or a breath dissolve them to their 
 mother earth, with the poor worm that they so oft 
 have trampled on and crushed beneath their feet, as 
 unworthy of the existence, which, with man alike it 
 shared ! Still, however, though familiar to the 
 sight of death, in all its various and appalling forms, 
 no man had risen from the dead to tell him to what 
 region he had flown, to tell of the past, or warn him 
 of the future ! Men had died on the ensanguined fields, 
 and though never buried, had not after risen, to say, 
 what aught befel them. 
 
 Some doubts, therefore, arose in the mind of the gal- 
 lant warrior, as to the supernatural appearance of the 
 blood-stained knight, who had that night so suddenly 
 intruded himself into the presence of the Lady Marga- 
 ret ; whom, he believed, notwithstanding his terrific ap- 
 pearance, and the blood-stained marks he bore about 
 him, was still an inhabitant of this world's earthly space : 
 and that, for reasons most potent and powerful, he 
 wished to conceal that earthly existence from the 
 knowledge of the Lady of Albino, or the crafty priest, 
 Benvolio, lest he might again be betrayed into their pow- 
 er ; and that he had devised this stratagem, to awe the 
 soul-subduing Margaret into the most appalling terror; 
 at the sudden appearance of one, whom it was pro- 
 bable, she considered long since numbered with the 
 silent dead, and, therefore, could no longer threaten or 
 alarm her on the score of the injuries he had sustained 
 under the immediate direction of the evil and malig- 
 
 ■MM. 
 
54 
 
 nant spirit, who possessed such unbounded influence 
 over her mind and actions ; and this evil spirit he be- 
 lieved to be no other than Benvolio, now, also, on the 
 eve of sacrificing her only child to the crafty and per- 
 nicious doctrines, he had so falsely and sacrilegi- 
 ously termed religion, and adoration to the laws of 
 the Most High; but which, in fact, was nothing 
 more in him than to hide a deceitful heart, a lying 
 conscience, and a strong propensity to all the base 
 passions that sink and degenerate mankind into little 
 better than mere brutes. 
 
 Sir Walter was persuaded that the designing priest 
 with all his pretended sanctity, was nothing more, and 
 that he would find such e'er he bade farewell to the 
 Castle of St. Clair; and the long wished-for hour for 
 seeing Sir Orville Faulkner, soon arrived. 
 
 He entered his apartment at an early hour, by the 
 command of his liege mistress, and respectfully saluted 
 him ; enquired most anxiously how he had passed the 
 night, and informed him that the Lady Margaret was 
 then waiting audience for him, in order to demand what 
 ammunition and stores were immediately necessary to 
 furnish the supplies of the great St. Julian ; and to 
 which, the youthful page, with the modest blush of 
 ingenuousness glowing on his youthful cheek, ad- 
 ded, — 
 
 " Gallant Sir Walter, well have you sped with our 
 imperious and haughty mistress. By my truth, the 
 private conference you held with the lady in the armory 
 last night, hath done the state much service. What- 
 e'er it was I know not ; but, it is certain, that she hath 
 relaxed much in her severity and rancour towards the 
 youthful conqueror, whom before ^he hated : and she 
 
 IT' 
 
OR, MARRIETTE MOULINE. 53 
 
 hath given orders, (which much surprise, and fill with 
 astonishment her guards and vassals) that Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen hath full liberty to march with these men 
 beneath her battlement, or sojourn, as long as he may 
 please, within the towers of St. Clair. She hath, like- 
 wise, charged me with commission to desire that you 
 will attend her presence, after you have partaken of 
 such refreshment as will best suit your palate, in order 
 that you may name such supplies as will be forth- 
 coming, for the allies, and the great St. Julian. Be- 
 lieve me, sir, none more rejoices pt your successful 
 embassy with the lady of Albino than I do. I wearied 
 heaven with ray prayers that you might not go from 
 hence without your wishes granted ; and that they are 
 so, I thank the gods, who have given you such grace 
 to move her : to all else, raethinks, she would have been 
 stern and unrelenting." 
 
 " Then, by my sword and buckler," cried Sir Wal- 
 ter, " it was not by flattery that I prevailed. I scorn 
 to use a language that my soul disdains." 
 
 " Would to heaven that all men under courtly fa- 
 vours, and high in office of authority disdained the lan- 
 guage you despise," uttered the youthful page, a 
 brilliant colour mounting to his youthful cheek, in 
 crimson dyes ; " but all are not men who bear the hu- 
 man form, nor all soldiers who wear the military cos- 
 tume. May it please you, sir, to take your morning 
 meal, after which, name the hour that I may have the 
 honour of attending you to the Lady Margaret." 
 
 There was a frank and open ingenuousness which 
 marked the fair brows of the youthful page, as he was 
 about, respectfully, to retire ; a smile played compla- 
 cently on his fresh apd roseate lip, and the soft ex- 
 
56 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 pression of his dark beaming eye promised that no 
 deceit lurked iu ambush there : and Sir Walter thought, 
 that thus invited by his kindness and respectful cour- 
 tesy, their could not be a fairer opportunity than the 
 present one of disclosing his intended plans ; and to 
 implore his assistance to 'favour his designs in behalf 
 of the lovely Bohemian maid, whom, in a few hours, it 
 was probable, would be beyond the possibility of any 
 effort to rescue her from the power of priestcraft, or 
 the machinations of her artful and insiduous mother. 
 Lowering hi* voice, therefore, to the softest whisper, 
 he entreated that he would stay awhile in his chamber, 
 as he had a matter of some moment to convey to his 
 private ear. 
 
 " And, in which your services will be much required," 
 uttered Sir Walter,—" nay, your pity— your compas- 
 sion. You aije^'^oung, and pity, in the breast of youth, 
 falls like the dew-drops on summer roses. For a 
 beauteous lady I implore— I solicit your aid. There 
 is none lovelier, worthier, under the bright beam- 
 ing sun— the daughter of Albino !— would not Sir 
 Orville mgke some sacrifices to save that matchless 
 fair one ?** 
 
 The brilliant glow of crimson which had before so 
 animated the features of the youthful page, faded to 
 the palest hue. Surprise, and even fear, alternately 
 possessed him, while, in alarmed and tremulous accents, 
 he pronounced, — 
 
 *' The daughter of Albino ! for her does Sir Walter 
 so earnestly implore my aid, and solicits my assistance 1 
 Heavenly powers ! is she then in danger ? what mean 
 you, sir ? explain — quickly explain, I beseech you, 
 why you imagine that Augustina is in want of my 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 57 
 
 assistance ? she whom angels visit with repose, and 
 saints watch over as their choicest treasure,— who 
 could harm such lovely innocence ?" 
 
 " The spirit to whom innocence is hateful," cried 
 Sir Walter, " and the demon who derides the power 
 and the influence of virtue, because he can never feel 
 the happiness which it produces. Evil cannot be al- 
 lied to good, neither can innocence dwell with guilt, 
 although human means are sometimes employed to 
 make it share in its punishment." . 
 
 " And what has guilt, — what has punishment to do 
 with the fair Bohemian maid ?" now impetuously de- 
 manded Sir Orville Faulkner. 
 
 To which. Sir Walter bluntly replied ;— - 
 
 " Much ! if she is unwarily led into its intricate 
 mazes by artful and insidious design, by canting hy- 
 pocrisy, and false piety, and by seekltaglafter the sem- 
 blance of virtue, she will only grasp mtfhe shadow." 
 
 " I do not understand you. Sir Walter De Ruthen," 
 cried Sir Orville, colouring deeply, " nor know I, at 
 what — at whom, your allusion points; if at myself, 
 your fears for the beauteous lady are groundless : by 
 the immortal powers, I would not wrong jllhat lovely 
 maid, to reign a monarch o'er a created World. But 
 for her safety — for her happiness, what would not Or- 
 ville Faulkner achieve? what perils not encounter? 
 what weary hardships not undergo ? Even to the holy 
 land, where pilgrims kiss the shrine that they adore, 
 barefoot would I wander for that sweet maiden ; and 
 ask no other boon, no other reward, than to behold one 
 smile illumine her lovely cheek, and hear those lips 
 more fresh and ripe than mountain berries, accent my 
 3 H t 
 
58 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 name in kindness. 1 ask no more, by holy '' 
 
 Sir Orville paused. 
 
 " No more!" uttered Sir Walter, with an incredu- 
 lous smile, and a sly insidious look ; " by my sword 
 and buckler, then, thou art the most modest serving 
 gentleman in Christendom; and, by my faith, thy wishes 
 are as moderate, were I to credit their report. But 
 thinkest thou, boy, that I will e'er believe them ? No ! 
 truly, thou hast too much young blood in thy veins, 
 to feel so coldly when a young maid is the point in 
 question, — and that maid is the daughter of the great 
 Albino!" 
 
 •' Whom I so loved, and so revered," faulteringly 
 uttered Sir Orville, " that— that— that I 
 
 " Cannot help loving his daughter, for the very life 
 of you," uttered Sir Walter and smiled. " Well, Sir 
 Orville, it is not my business to interrogate you about 
 the state of your affections, which, if they lean to youth 
 and beauty, and to merit withal, is very natural ; for, if 
 woman had not smiled, the very Garden of Eden it- 
 self had been a wild 1 For the Bohemian lady, there are 
 more dangers pending o'er her beauteous head, be- 
 neath the battlements of St. Clair than you are aware 
 of; and the authority I give for warning you of these 
 dangers that assail and threaten her, was her own 
 beauteous self! From the lips of Augustina I heard 
 the confession, thrice repeated, and her mother, the 
 Lady Margaret, in conjunction with the pious counsel 
 of the priest, Benvolio, did much exhort the lovely 
 maid to enter the Convent of Mariette MoUline, and to 
 take the holy vows according to the conventual order 
 of the sisterhood ; which signifieth, that she and the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 59^ 
 
 world must separate for ever. By mere accident, I was 
 stationed near the casement, that overlooketh yon 
 beautiful, wild, and romantic plantation ; and, as I ga- 
 zed on the full orbed moon, which so brightly shed her 
 silver light on the shadowy face of things ; while I 
 contemplated and adored, in silent wonder and admi- 
 ration, the awful majesty of heaven ; when all was 
 still, but the night warbling bird, who breathed its song 
 of melody through the acacia grove, sweetened by 
 the spicy incense of the fragrant flowers, — two love- 
 ly figures, tall as the graceful pine, that bespoke the 
 beauty of woman's loveliest form, glided to yon bower 
 of budding roses, and quickly ^entered into sweet dis- 
 course. Methought the voice of one had a charm in the 
 sound, e'en like unto music! the other, something 
 more mellow, but not less grateful to the ear. St. 
 Julian was the theme, and ever and anon they talked 
 of Benvolio, till at last, the whole truth, sentence 
 by sentence, was conveyed to my shocked, and sud- 
 denly alarmed senses, — that the intention of the Lady 
 Margaret, aided by the pious counsel of her vir- 
 tuous friend, is to sacrifice this lovely creature to the 
 vile laws, mistaken and blind, of priestcraft, bigotry, 
 and'superstition 1 Forbid it heaven ! and forbid it nature ! 
 that she, so formed to reign the partner of a monarch's 
 bed, so heavenly gifted with beauty's fancied excel- 
 lence, should have those smiling charms devoted to a 
 cold cloister's gloom. Feels not thy young heart the 
 cruel sacrifice she is about to make ? pants not thy 
 ^oung heart to set her free ? for thou canst do it, noble 
 ■Faulkner, if thy will inclines that way. Hasten, then, 
 ere these hateful rites are performed, and join with me to 
 snatch her hence, far from the power of monkish priests, 
 
 * 
 
60 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAlR ; 
 
 and her tyrannic mother : hasten, generous youth, to 
 save a lovely woman from oppression, cruelty, and in- 
 justice. Pause not, linger not in thy ^resolves, but 
 boldly say, that you will become a godlike hero, by the 
 performance of a godlike action ! for, great as the im- 
 mortal gods is he, who flies to aid a helpless woman, 
 and redress her wrongs !" 
 
 Astonishment, for a moment, deprived the youthful 
 page of Lady Margaret of all power of utterance, for he 
 knew that at a late hour he had observed Augustina 
 and Madame La Roche, (for so was Antoinette called) 
 enter the gardens of the pagoda, and that they were 
 both deeply veiled, and earnestly engaged in conversa- 
 tion ; but never had he the remotest thought of the 
 cruel and arbitrary intentions of the Lady Margaret, 
 or th» fate she was preparing for her lovely child ! 
 And he shuddered at the idea, while he emphatically 
 pronounced,— 
 
 " Oh ! teach me how to save her ! bid me fly o'er 
 the wide expanse of ocean, or plunge in fiery Etna's 
 burning flames, and I will do it, fearless, to save the 
 sweet maiden from a fate so cruel !" 
 
 " Brave youth, thou needest not wing thy flight so 
 far," uttered Sir Walter De Ruthen, " nor risk the 
 dangers that thou wouldest so courageously share : 
 there is a shorter way to serve the fortunes of the beau- 
 teous lady." 
 
 ** Name it gallant Sir Walter," impatiently demand- 
 ed Sir Orville Faulkner. 
 
 " First promise me thy implicit confidence," cried 
 Sir Walter ; " betrayed to Lady Margaret, we are 
 undone for ever !" 
 
 " And can you think me guilty of so base and per- 
 
on, MARIETTE MOULINE. 61 , 
 
 iidious an action ?" uttered SirOrville, while ablush, 
 certainly indignant, for a moment dyed his manly 
 cheek. Betray you to the Lady Margaret ? I would 
 perish first! and little does Sir Walter De Ruthen 
 know of Orville Faulkner, to suspect him thus." 
 
 " And for that little knowledge I possess, I pray you 
 pardon me," cried Sir Walter, hurt that he had 
 unintentionally wounded the feelings of so spirited, 
 and certainly, io all appearance, so amiable and dis- 
 interested a character; " but there is a lovely lady whom 
 y ou love, in question, and there is a master, whom I am ^ 
 
 bound to serve with truth and loyalty, whom, you know, ^^ 
 loves her too, and would woo her to his arms, were he 
 able, by trampling empires under his feet. I am cer- 
 tainly placed in an awkward situation, Sir Orville 
 Faulkner. You are the rival of the great St. Julian !" 
 
 " But I am also his friend, would St. Julian honour 
 me with so sacred a title," replied the youthful page. 
 " I am also his admirer, and would be his follower, did 
 circumstances at this moment warrant it, with honour. 
 For rivalship, I disclaim having any, with one so far 
 above me : and, for interest in the heart of the Bohe- 
 mian maid, presume I not to think of it. No, sir, the 
 humble vassal, (but at best) of the great Albino, as- 
 pires not to the hand of his daughter. I have slumber- 
 ed in dreams of bliss, and murmured forth the name 
 of Augustina, but never dared I, when waking, ap- 
 proach the lovely maid, as one who had a right to 
 address her in the language of love. Sir, if I love, 
 I have concealed the passion with the honour and 
 the prudence that may become a man in my situ- 
 ation, not less critical than your's ; and, whatever 
 truth or loyalty you bear your noble master, it should ^ 
 
i 
 
 62 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 not teach you to suspect those who would willing- 
 ly serve you. Alas, may I die young, if growing old, 
 I thus impeach my fellow-men — my fellow- brothers ! 
 for I consider all men brothers, born together in a 
 world of pain, of sorrow, and of weary pilgrimage ; yet 
 Yfe are hourly journeying to that land, where all men 
 should meet as brothers and as friends, whether in this 
 world's earthly space they chanced to be rivals or foes. 
 There is no rivalship in heaven, and all who are admit- 
 ted there, are on equal terms. Sir Walter De Ruthen, 
 you have pained me much ; still, I will do all that I 
 have professed, and, ah, much more beyond profes- 
 sions, were deeds within the limits of my power. Say 
 how J can serve the daughter of Albino, and I will 
 quickly do it, though life itself were the sacrifice, for 
 Augustina." 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, thou art the bravest 
 and the most manly youth that my eyes e'er looked 
 upon,'* cried Sir Walter, eying the youthful page no 
 longer with suspicion, but with looks of admiration, 
 which he had no power now of suppressing ; " and I 
 will believe thee such, yes, I believe thee, thou most 
 gallant youth, to be truly such as thy ingenuous coun- 
 tenance bespeaks thee — most just, most honourable — 
 just to the cause of humanity and virtue. By the va- 
 Ip^r of a soldier, I here declare, though no one else is 
 near to witness the assertion, (save alone the eye that 
 never sleeps on human actions) that were the Bohe- 
 mian maid ipy daughter, I should be puzzled to bestow 
 her hand-?-were you alone the rival of St. Julian ! But 
 she is .not mine, brave boy, and so let the matter pass. 
 A soWiqr triftes when he talks of love ; for love, as I 
 take it, being made qf such soft and 'witching mate- 
 
OR, MAKIETTE MOULINE. ' ^ 
 
 rials, would be apt to draw a man from his duty. Mark 
 Anthony, when he loved Cleopatra, was no more a 
 soldier ; Troy was fired by the charms of Helen ; and, 
 by my sword and buckler, I would sooner face a caii- 
 non's roar than the eyes of one fair woman I She deals 
 more deadly blows by one ecstatic glance — by one me- 
 lodious accent, than whole armies of overpowering 
 foes, howe'er so tenible. When I was a boy, I Well 
 remember, my father, in the rude noisy camp, used to 
 get me in a corner of his tent, and there caution me 
 to beware of a woman's smile, and a woman's teii* ; 
 so that by habit, as it were, and a father's rigid dote- illll 
 trine, I shunned an intercourse with lovely womaA: ^^^^ 
 and they wondered much to see a youth, scarce grow- 
 ing from his teens, (for I had not yet numbered twenty) 
 so averse to female manners — so insensible to woman's 
 loveliness ! It was strange, they said, it was passing 
 strange; and some calle'dm'e aii unlick6d cub, while 
 others called me by names I will not mention : for 
 there were old women in the camp, as well as young 
 ones, and they all hated me. I led the life of a dog 
 among them, while my father gloried in me for the 
 counse'l I had listened to. He bi'ed me for a soldier ! 
 and war Was the idol of my heart, in Which I had no ri- 
 val. At length, in India's burning clime, while exposed 
 to summer's scorching heat, and, alternately, sent on 
 duty to feel the icy chill of Lapland's freezing snows, 
 I fell sick of a contagious fever, peculiar to the coun- 
 try, and I was borne to the hospital, with only soldiers 
 for my nurse, and nature for my physician. 
 
 I struggled long with death — with youth— with a 
 soldier's hardihood ; I did not fear to die,— but it was 
 the death I had to die, that made it terrible. I had 
 
 
64 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 gloried to have breathed ray last sigh on the field of 
 battle ; and, as I lingered languishingly on the bed of 
 feeble inanition, exhausted by my sufferings, I prayed 
 one of the soldiers to shoot me, to put an end to them ; 
 and which he was about to execute — his arm al- 
 ready extended over my wasted and pallid form, aimed 
 the threatening blow that was to exterminate my mi- 
 sery—he grasped the pistol — be quick ! feebly articu- 
 lated I ; do thy duty — the duty thou owest to a friend, 
 and a soldier! Boy, even at this moment, I hear the 
 voice of the mediating angel, who, in woman's form, 
 arrested the fatal and the deadly aim — it was a negro 
 woman, who, unheard — who, unseen, had crept, in the 
 darkness of the night, to my bedside, to moisten my 
 parched lips, and allay the fever of my burning brain. 
 
 With the fury of a tygress, she hurled the pistol from 
 the trembling hand of my brother soldier, who ne'er 
 had trembled in his life before, while, in piteous ac- 
 cents, she exclaimed, — 
 
 " Why you killee him that God no killee ? you no 
 killee, because you no givee life, — you no killee, when 
 negre woman here — dat me, sure ! Massa, me give 
 you drink, me give you meat, me give you piaintain 
 leaf! bind him head, make pain leave you, — fever no 
 come again, — piaintain leaf make all quite well, and 
 massa glad, glad he no be killee !" 
 
 I returned no answer to this black angel of pity, 
 whose heart so floated with the milk of human kind- 
 ness, that she seemed, in my eyes, to resemble in purity, 
 the alpine snows ; but I suffered her to approach me, 
 without rejecting the means she offered for my relief. 
 Boy, imagine my transports, conceive my unbound- 
 ed gratitude to this faithful creature, when at the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE< 05 
 
 expiration of three days, the raging fever left me ; 
 and, attended by my black nurse, night and day, I at 
 last recovered, and appeared to my brother soldiers, 
 as one who had arisen from the dead ; so hopeless had 
 they considered my condition. 
 
 Ah, then in my breast, first sprung ray love for wo- 
 man, — it was a new-born feeling, to me, unknown, un- 
 felt before. 
 
 I acknowledged their influence, I owned their pre- 
 eminence in the heart of man ; and from that hour, 
 when I looked on the face of a woman, I remembered 
 that a woman's hand arrested the blow levelled at my 
 heart by a brother soldier, — that a woman's kindness 
 administered to my wants in the hour of sickness, — that 
 a woman's voice imparted what man ^could never yet 
 do — to make a soldier tremble ! and an apostate bend to 
 the holy shrine of nature, woman's loveliness and wo- 
 man's truth ! She is alike in all ages, and in all climes ; 
 and whether her complexion be white, brown, or black, 
 her heart is the test of all human kindness , whether in the 
 adverse hour, or in the days of prosperity, she is still 
 the same constant, faithful ,f persevering being ! Mother, 
 maid, or wife, she discharges the tender duties which 
 are incumbent upon her with the most admired patience 
 and fortitude ; and, though too often undeservedly 
 harshly treated, never deserts the being whom she is 
 bound to serve. If she is a wife, she is faithful to the 
 chaste ties of honourable aifection : if a mother, she 
 there shines unequalled in the tender task which na- 
 ture has assigned to her : if a daughter, dear and sa- 
 cred, to her, are the parents to whom she owes her ex- 
 istence : if a sister, she performs a sister's duty to her 
 brethren ; and delicate are the bonds which subsist 
 3 I t 
 
66 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 between a sister and a brother ; a sister's love for him 
 if he is kind to her, extends to every sacrifice that 
 she can make for his sake. I -have seen, and I have 
 known what a sister can suffer for a dear brother 
 whom she loves. We had a deserter once in our regi- 
 ment, and he was on the point of being shot for the 
 crimes he had committed, and his apostacy to his sworn 
 liege king, and country. I remember well the morn- 
 iijg that was destined for his fate 1 already had the fa- 
 tal guard who had watched o'er him through the night, 
 dragged him from his dark dungeon, to which, for ma- 
 ny long and tedious months, the poor wretch had been 
 confined : but during this time, miracles had been 
 working in his favour, by the exertions of a young 
 and lovely sister. He had been in the service of the 
 Emperor Josephus, of all others the most unpitying 
 and inexorable, when his vengeance was provoked; and 
 from whose ranks he had deserted. The young sister 
 heard of his desertion, and was apprized of his fate, 
 and, on the night before the order of his execution had 
 arrived to St. Julian, she presented a petition to the 
 ofiicer of the guard, to meet the eye and melt the heart 
 of the unrelenting Josephus ; but it was contemptu- 
 ously rejected, and she herself rudely repulsed, and 
 turned from the grand entrance, through which the im- 
 perious emperor was about to pass, with the princess 
 Geraldine, a kind and lovely maid, who had that day 
 become of age. 
 
 The rejoicings of the people were loud and unani- 
 mous ; and the princess wishing to evince her grati- 
 tude to a nation by whom she was so beloved, opened 
 the windows of the carriage, as the royal cavalcade 
 passed by, and bowed her beauteous head to each pas- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOHLINE. 67 
 
 sing stranger that wished her long life and happiness : 
 while the mighty emperor, in the fulness of his 
 heart, and pleased with the admiration and loyalty 
 which his lovely daughter had inspired, promised to 
 give a free pardon, on this day, to all who had offend- 
 ed against his laws, provided that they would amend 
 their faults by better behaviour and more regular con- 
 duct. 
 
 At this moment of the declared proclamation, a 
 piercing shriek was heard amidst the crowd, and rent 
 the air with its agonized sound. 
 
 " Whence is the cause of those piteous and lament- 
 able cries ?" eagerly demanded the lovely Geraldine. 
 *' My royal sire, if ever pity touched thy heart, and sure 
 it does on such a day as this, command that the sor- 
 rows of this wretched suppliant may be made known 
 to us." 
 
 " And what wouldest thou do daughter, were they 
 so ?'* vociferated Josephus. 
 
 To which the lovely maid instantly replied ; 
 " I would both pity and redress their wrongs, were I 
 able, sire, and you must, you will redress them, when 
 thy daughter pleads. Pray let the wretched suppliant 
 be brought before us ; it was a woman's voice that 
 mine ear assailed, and it is woman's duty to hear a 
 woman's prayer." 
 
 The order of the beauteous Geraldine was instantly 
 obeyed, and the sister of the^poor deserter, sentenced 
 to suffer death on the coming morrow, appeared before 
 them. 
 
 She was a young maid, whose cheek blushed with 
 modesty and beauty ; and prostrate she fell at the feet 
 of the mighty Emperor Josephus, and the Princess 
 Geraldine. 
 
68 THE MYSTSRIES OF ST. CLAIR', 
 
 *' Oil, thou who art mighty, and hast power," ut- 
 tered she, — " and thou, who art lovely, and hast com- 
 passion soft nestled in thy snowy bosom, hear the plaint 
 of a wretched maiden, who hath journeyed, sorrowing, 
 to this land, that she might behold thee, and set her pe- 
 tition before thee. My brother is a deserter, and to- 
 morrow he is condemned to die, in the camp of St. Ju- 
 lian. Recal the fatal mandate, mighty ' emperor ; 
 let not the natal hour, which gave to thee a beauteous 
 daughter, be doomed to rob an aged mother of her 
 only son." 
 
 " How ! a deserter!" fiercely vociferated Josephus, 
 his eye Hashing with fury on the prostrate maid: "then 
 it would be injustice to pardon him. Desertion is a 
 crime that merits the punishment he has provoked : 
 beyond all other crimes, I cannot pardon this. Maiden, 
 go hence, I cannot grant thy suit, — thy brother's doom 
 is fixed, and the sentence is irrevocable." 
 
 The young maid fainted, and was borne from the 
 presence of the emperor, amidst the pitying sigh§ of a 
 murmuring populace. But in two hours hence she was 
 visited, in private, by the Princess Geraldine, who, 
 throwing aside her costly garments, and seating her- 
 self at the side of the afllicted maiden, pronounced, in 
 sweet and melodious accents, to her ravished ear, — 
 
 " Maiden, thy prayer is heard, and heaven, and pi- 
 tyitig angels have rewarded thy pious affections, 
 breathed so pure, so holily, for thy captive brother. He 
 is free — by my father's authority, he is reprieved from 
 the sentence, and the crime for which he was about to 
 suffer. Speed thee to the camp of St. Julian, and bear 
 this mandate with thee : it will rescue him, though at 
 the point of death. Fly, then> to save him ; here is money 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 69 
 
 for thee : fly, gentle maiden, nor tarry here a moment 
 longer: to me, no thanks are due, nor do I require 
 them. I have done but my duty, and I am rewarded 
 by the tear that bedews thy pale cheek, and the prayer 
 of gratitude, that, when thou thinkest on Geraldine, 
 will be heard on high. Go, gentle maiden, and may 
 all good and holy spirits guard thee." 
 
 She came in the midst of the multitude who had 
 been gathered together to witness the execution of the 
 deserter. She appeared by the order of the Emperor 
 Josephus, (uttered she) holding the mandate out to 
 the guards, who, in a few successive moments, would 
 have been commanded to do their duty. Already was 
 the bandage placed over the brows of the unfortunate 
 soldier. " My brother is pardoned ! release him, and 
 give him liberty, that he may behold his sister 1" more 
 loudly, but tremulously vociferated she. 
 
 And the deserter, now unbound by the hands of the 
 soldiery, rushed into the extended arms of the heroic 
 creature who had preserved him. All this have I seen 
 of lovely woman ! and seeing, will believe, that they 
 are as true of heart as men in the hour of danger ; and, 
 by my sword and buckler, with all the courage and 
 philosophy that man can boast of, I have always found 
 that they are the greatest philosophers of the two. 
 
 " Sir, I do not doubt your assertion, after what you 
 have related of the lovely sex," uttered Sir Orville 
 Faulkner. " Now, then, to your point, gallant Sir 
 Walter, say, how can I serve the fair Bohemian lady?" 
 
 " There is only one way," cried Sir Walter, " and 
 that must be immediate flight ?" 
 
 " But how achieved," answered Sir Orville, turning 
 pale at the suggestion. ** Whither must she go, were 
 
70 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 it possible to bear her from the towers, of St. Clair?" 
 " That were an after-thought, — the present only 
 claims our attention," answered Sir Walter De Ru- 
 then, by no means willing that the name of St. Juliain 
 should once be mentioned in this affair. " Cannot I see 
 the lady, and, through your entreaty, solicit conference 
 with her ? Have you no influence with her attendants, 
 even she who spoke with her in the bower of roses ?" 
 To which, the youthful page thoughtfully replied. — 
 " Of Madame La Roche, I will endeavour to gain 
 you an audience, after she has been to matins. With 
 the daughter of Albino, none bearing the form of man 
 are permitted to approach her lovely person. Con- 
 cealed from the bold familiar gaze of all who would 
 behold the beauteous maid, none, save her waiting 
 gentlewoman, dare venture to steal upon the sacred 
 privacy of the apartments which are appropriated to 
 her use. The lady has peremptorily forbidden any of 
 her most favourite vassals to ask admission there, or 
 seek conference with her lovely daughter, on peril of 
 her extreme displeasure — nay, instant dismissal from 
 her service." 
 
 " And goes not the holy father, Benvolio, sometimes 
 to the apartments of the Lady Augustina," enquired 
 Sir Walter, with sarcastic pleasantry ; " surely the 
 Lady Margaret would not exclude so pious and so 
 chaste a friend — so active in the cause of virtue, and so 
 zealously devoted to her young daughter's eternal hap- 
 piness, to abstain from having access to her." 
 
 To which, Sir Orville ingenuously replied, (a crim- 
 son blush mounting to his cheek, as if occasioned by 
 some involuntary sensation he felt, and could not 
 overcome) — 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULIN E. 71 
 
 " However chaste, and piously disposed, the priest, 
 Benvolio, does not enter there ; for, by the imperious 
 order of our liege mistress, guards are placed at the 
 entrance of the doors, to check the bold advance of any 
 presuming stranger ; and none, save herself and Ma- 
 dame La Roche pass through them. Once, indeed, 
 when the Lady Margaret was indisposed, and could 
 not leave her chamber, she dispatched me with a billet 
 to her fair and beauteous child ; and I — I — was com- 
 manded to enter the blest abode of smiling innocence 
 and beauty ! Gods ! how transcendantly lovely she 
 appeared, as now, unveiled she sat, reclining on a sofa, 
 in sweet and modest simplicity arrayed ! her golden 
 tresses, unbound, aud waving gently on her snowy 
 neck to the soft zephyr that wafted its fragrance in at 
 the casement which o'erlooked the gardens of the pa- 
 goda; where the eye roved among, woody recesses 
 and romantic glades. The apartments too were 
 sumptuously adorned : the sofa was of a light celes- 
 tial blue, and the rich tapestry with which the cham- 
 ber was ornamented, produced an effect so strikingly 
 beautiful, that I could not contemplate it but with 
 wonder and admiratiot» ; for they represented wood- 
 nymphs, bearing on their heads baskets of flowers, 
 while others, in fantastic shapes, were crowning little 
 cupids with wreathes of roses. But she herself, the 
 fairest nymph of all these smiling beauties — the living 
 goddess of this enchanting scene ! — on her I gaz'd with 
 rapture ! and from that very hour '* 
 
 " Cupid had finished his design," uttered Sir Wal- 
 ter, smilingly : " by my sword and buckler, I began to 
 suspect that you was somewhat in danger of being be- 
 sieged. Yes, it is doubtless, that from that very hour 
 
72 ' THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 you loved the daughter of Albino ; and, truly, there 
 was temptation for thy young heart; and if thy young 
 heart still so doats on the lovely maid, thou wilt yet do 
 much to serve her. Give me audience, then, with this 
 Madame La Roche, and I will propose such things as 
 may immediately rescue the lovely lady from the fate 
 that threatens her. She must away with me — with you 
 if you are willing to go. You said, you loved St. Ju- 
 lian ; prove, then, thy assertion, and fly with me these 
 hated towers of St. Clair ; and the companion of thy 
 flight shall be a lovely one: the daughter of Albino 
 shall bear us company — or quickly enter the convent 
 of Mariette Mouline: choose thy alternative ; stay, 
 and see the lovely maiden receive the holy vow that 
 shuts her from the world for ever — or, by to-morrow's 
 dawn, hasten with me, far from these hated towers, so 
 involved in treachery and mystery, to become what thy 
 young heart pants to be — a soldier ! and the follower 
 of the great St, Julian ! But we must take the lady 
 with us ; are you aware of this, and that a few hours 
 hence, the fair Bohemian maid will be lost to us for 
 ever." 
 
 To which, the youthful page replied, — 
 *' I am aware, sir, of all you have said — of all that you 
 propose, and I willingly enter into all your designs. I 
 will go this moment, and watch the hour of matins, — 
 whisper a word in the ear of Madame La Roche, and 
 prepare her, entreat her, to receive your counsel. In 
 an hour hence, expect to see me. In the mean time, I 
 would have you attend the summons of the Lady Mar- 
 garet : avoid the colour of suspicion, which, in these 
 gloomy towers, is ever wont to walk, with the most gi- 
 gantic strides.** 
 
on, MARUTTE MOULIN K. 73 
 
 " Let me but see the daughter of Albino, and leave 
 me to settle all beside," cried Sir Walter. " Go, speed 
 thee, brave youth, and may all good angels prosper 
 thee, and grant that thy embassy may prove success- 
 ful in the cause of innocence and virtue." 
 
 ** Amen !" piously ejaculated Sir Orville Faulkner : 
 and the one respectfully retired, while the other endea- 
 voured to appear calm and collected, as he was about 
 to enter again the presence of her who in superior art 
 and hypocrisy rivalled all woman-kind ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 " Full fathom five, your Father lies ! 
 Of his bones is coral made ! 
 These are pearls— that were his eyes ; 
 Nothing of him but doth fade : — 
 And must suffer a sea- change 
 Into something new and strange ! 
 Then come unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands ; 
 Foot it featly, here and there, 
 And all the rest a chorus bear !" 
 
 Shakspkare— TVfnp**^. 
 
 AND in the presence of the Lady Margaret, Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen again appeared ; but how diffe^ 
 rent were the manners of this proud, haughty, and 
 rebellious woman towards St. Julian's page now, 
 than when before, as the humble supplicant of St. Ju- 
 lian's petition, he came to solicit her assistance in the 
 4 K t 
 
"74 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR', 
 
 cause of humanity, and suffrage of the poor nearly 
 famished and exhausted soldiery. She, in her turn, was 
 the humble supplicant now ; for she was in fear of St. 
 Julianas page ! and she trembled, lest he should dis- 
 close to the ear of mortal, that which he had witnessed 
 in the castle of St. Clair. Guilt marked every linea- 
 ment of a countenance never lovely, even in the bloom 
 of youth; and how terrible, how disgustingly hateful 
 doth it appear, when it marks the brow of hoary head- 
 ed age I and how just, that " guilt makes cowards of 
 us all," however so lovely or renowned. Wealth, and 
 all its boasted pride of bloated affluence and worldly 
 power, — what are its advantages, and what are its com- 
 forts and its blessings, when compared to the inesti- 
 mable treasures of a pure and spotless heart, an un- 
 ruffled conscience, at ease with itself, and at peace 
 with all mankind ? 
 
 Alas ! it is nothing ! the most abject state of po- 
 .verty -is preferable ; for poverty is no crime. It 
 may depress, exhaust, and weary the poor languished 
 and worn-out sufferer, who groans under its heavy 
 burden ; but it cannot debase, and may exalt, the hu- 
 man mind : and while it makes us sorrow for ourselves, 
 it teaches us to feel and partake in the misfortunes of 
 others ; for, without a feeling for others, it is morally 
 impossible to expect that the kindly hand who created 
 us shall have compassion for us, when we deny the 
 fellow-feeling to his creatures. It is unreasonable 
 and presumptuous to imagine that we are protected, 
 while we refuse protection to those who stand in need 
 of our assistance; and however small our means, they 
 are not to be weighed or extenuated for faults, or 
 alleged as excuses for the want of humanity, when 
 
75 
 
 we behold a suffering fellow- creature pining under 
 anguish. It may do well with worldly noien, whose 
 sole object is confined to this world's earthly space ; 
 but with the Power that rules above us, these 
 excuses avail us nothing. The consciousness of 
 having discharged our duty, while here we sojourn, 
 will clear our passage to realms of everlasting bliss, 
 where happiness eternal reigns, and peace is for ever- 
 more ! 
 
 Various were the expressions which were alternately 
 blended in the countenance of the Lady Margaret, at 
 the approach of St. Julian's page : and she exclaimed, 
 with a complacent air, strongly concealed under the 
 mask of the most smiling hypocrisy, — 
 
 " Gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen, hast thou fared 
 well under the battlements of the great Albino ? have 
 my vassals discharged their duty ? and hast thou ban- 
 quetted on that which best suits thy palate ? Beshrew 
 me, it would go ill with any one of ray domestics that 
 did not pay thee obedience." 
 
 " 1 have had that with which nature is sufficed, and 
 he who requires more is unjust to the laws of nature," 
 coolly and deliberately replied St Julian's page. 
 <' Now then to business, and to the purport of my 
 great errand here, noble lady ; you are willing to 
 grant the supplies to St. Julian, are you not? be 
 pleased then to give me a written order, for the 
 immediate execution, and I will pay you monies 
 for the assistance thereof. I have not read the terms 
 of this negotiation : you. Lady Margaret, are apprized 
 of their import : I must abide by your ijjimediate and 
 imperative decision, which calmot be delayed." 
 
 The negotiation was now a second time perused by 
 
76 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 the Lady Margaret, and the proposals agreed to, in all 
 but giving her daughter in marriage to St. Julian. 
 
 " Which, for weighty reasons, thou knowest, gal- 
 lant Sir Walter, it is not in my power to grant to the 
 mighty conqueror," uttered th*e Lady, and smoothing 
 her features to complacent and smiling courtesy : " to 
 the convent of Mariette Mouline, I must rn a few days 
 hence journey, with my young daughter, there to wit- 
 ness the solemn and holy rites performed, and to offer 
 up prayers in that blessed sanctuary, that her vows 
 may be accepted. This thou wilt tell St. Julian, gal- 
 lant Sir Walter." 
 
 " I will not forget a tittle of what thou hast com- 
 manded ; by my sword and buckler, I will be faithful, 
 even to the very sound of a word, my gentle dame," 
 uttered Sir Walter, boldly ; and drawing out a leathern 
 bag, in which the monies given him by St. Julian 
 were carefully deposited, and at sight of w.hich, the 
 eyes of the avaricious Margaret, sparkled with no 
 small satisfaction. 
 
 " The keys of the fortress are in the possession of 
 my treasurer, and here is the order, that thou may- 
 est demand of him, in my name, such supplies as the 
 monies are worth ; and, beshrew me, I will do more 
 than the terms do here warrant !" cried the Lady Mar- 
 garet, fixing her eyes alternately on the paper and on 
 the glittering gold that was spread before her : " thou 
 shalt be furnished with horses to take the ammunition 
 some leagues on thy wearisome journey ; and may all 
 good wishes speed thee on thy way, gallant soldier." 
 
 " Lady, I am rude in speech and manners," uttered 
 Sir Walter, sarcastically, " and want the grace to 
 gjive you back a compliment so courtly paid. Were 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 77 
 
 the great St. Julian here, thou wouldst receive more 
 praise, more gratitude, and eloquence of tongue, than 
 I, his vassal, have the gift to shew. Now to your trea- 
 surer, lady, may it please you, that I may be conducted 
 forthwith! and by to-morrow's dawn, we will leave 
 your battlements with mighty thanks." 
 
 " It shall be ordered so," cried the Lady Marga- 
 ret, with a most gracious smile; and handing over the 
 order to Sir Walter, he beheld, with involuntary dis- 
 gust and surprize, the name of Cardinal Benvolio, as 
 lord also of the vast treasury in the Castle of St. Clair ; 
 and of whom, it was now necessary that he should ob- 
 tain an audience, e'er his mission could be finally com- 
 pleted. 
 
 " The pious priest is then your treasurer, lady, as 
 well as your confessor !" uttered Sir Walter, while a 
 flash of crimson, for a moment, mounted to the before 
 sallow cheek of great Albino's wife. " By my sword 
 and buckler, the worthy gentleman hath a mighty 
 trust ; body and soul were too much for one agent to 
 take charge of, and in one cause, holily and wisely too : 
 and worldly matters do sometimes call us from hea- 
 venly duties, lady. But the pious priest, Benvolio, 
 can study all these, not like unto other men ; and, had 
 he been a statesman, by my sword and buckler, he had 
 been a pious priest still." 
 
 " Nay, now thou speakest slightingly of the holy fa- 
 ther," uttered Margaret, with ill concealed displea- 
 sure lowering o'er her haughty brow : " he is the great 
 Albino's friend ! and as such I prize him." 
 
 " And for great Albino's lady, the holy father hath 
 a friendship of some years growth : it is no wonder 
 then that the pious man, having evinced such strong 
 
78 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 fidelity to his most virtuous lady, should he invested 
 with such high authority and affairs of office, as surprize 
 the state, and much offends the mighty Emperor Jose- 
 phus ; with whom the cardinal is no favourite ! nay, 
 start not, lady, I speak truly ! The emperor disap- 
 proves the influence that Ben vol io hath lately obtain- 
 ed in the castle of St. Clair, and much fears that he 
 hath asserted it unworthily, and somewhat to the dis- 
 advantage of the vast possessions and the rich treasures 
 left you by your late gallant lord. In the court of Vi- 
 enna, there are rumours spread abroad that much tend 
 to discredit the seeming integrity pf this holy virtuous 
 man. Look to^^ it, lady, and so farewell! Beware of 
 treachery, even under the specious form of sanctity and 
 religion ; it sometimes conceals a smiling hypocrite, 
 and a fawning courtier. 
 
 " When the serpent of old approached the lovely Eve, 
 for the wily purposes that he intended, and to seduce—- 
 to charm her mind from heaven, he came not, lady, in 
 the form of evil ; nor used he language that could aught 
 alarm her chaste and delicate apprehensions. Had he 
 done so, he well knew, she ne'er had sinned, nor the 
 tempting apple ne'er been tasted ; and, therefore, bor- 
 rowed he the gentleness of virtue ; and she, by virtue 
 caught, fell into error, and became the victim of his de- 
 ception. Was it not so, lady ? Even so may not the 
 great Margaret be seduced, and so fall ? Beware, then, 
 of the tempter, who, in the person of the cardinal, may 
 assail thee ; and thou, the wife of the great Albino, 
 and the mother of the beauteous Augustina, may, — 
 gods! let not the winds hear the dark tale, nor moun- 
 tains listen to the echo, that would breathe a murmur 
 against the bright fame of great Albino's wife !" 
 
OR, MAKIETTE MOULINE. 79 
 
 ** Fool ! dolt ! madman !" vociferated Margaret, 
 now enraged beyond the power of endurance or con- 
 cealment ; " and would the winds or mountains trouble 
 themselves, (since thou makest winds and mountains so 
 intelligent with mortal intercourse, and mortal things) 
 about the fame thou speakest of, that concerneth man or 
 woman I— not that I care for the rumour spread abroad 
 about the holy father ; or that it e'er can stagger my great 
 resolves, which no change in him shall ever know, till 
 I find better cause than that which thou pretendest, to 
 do him wrong in mine estimation. For the vast 
 treasures which my lord hath left me, what doth that 
 concern the state ? since to the state I owe nothing, but 
 tomygreatlordit is beholden much. All this I know, and 
 do not fear the tongue of envious slander, that, belike, 
 would bereave a poor widow of her just rights and pri- 
 vileges, could their malice or their rancour prevail, or 
 do aught to change my purpose with Benvolio. But 
 I will not be so dictated to, and I will be mistress of 
 mine own estates, left me by my dear lord, to do that 
 which best I please in my own domains. Were my 
 son Fernando living, thou wouldst not dare to wag 
 thy tongue in such rude and noisy insolence against 
 his mother. Begone, therefore, and leave my battle- 
 ments by to-morrow's dawn, and take the supplies 
 for which thou hast paid the monies: but, mark me, 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen, another hour shouldst thou 
 linger here— thou, or thy vassals— thou shalt dearly 
 pay for this thy great presumption, which much I 
 thank St. Julian for." 
 
 " Lady, it is not to St. Julian thou shalt owe my 
 vengeance," cried Sir Walter. " Since thou hast so fear- 
 
80 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 lessly braved my counsel, which meant so weli to serve 
 thee, — since thou art alike deaf to the voice of reason, 
 or that which would give thee warning of the evil which 
 is now pending o'er thy head, — I leave thee to thy fate, 
 and to the pious counsels of thy ghostly confessor. 
 Farewell, lady ! in some adverse hour, perchance, we 
 meet again ; then shalt thou know thy friends from thy 
 foes, and repent thee of a woman's falling weakness, — * 
 the two greatest that can befal Ivev in human existence, 
 — passion and vanity I To them I leave you : so, 
 save you, gentle dame, farewell V 
 
 So saying, and seizing the written order, for which 
 he had paid the monies of St. Julian, for the supplies, 
 lest, in a moment of frenzied rage, it might be couuter- 
 roanded by the now infuriated and indignant Lady 
 Margaret, he attended Sir Orville Faulkner to the 
 door ; not deigning to bestow another glance on her 
 whom he had left, notwithstanding the intrepid bold- 
 ness of her character, overwhelmed with tlietide of her 
 furious and malignant passions. There were reasons 
 most potent, however, for concealing them in the pre- 
 sence of the youthful page, as well as to hide them 
 from the knowledge of her vassals. It was necessary, 
 therefore, to adopt a seeming air of courteous civility 
 towards St. Julian's page, which, at another time, her 
 proud heart would have disdained. Besides, there 
 were also reasons why Benvolio was not to be made ac- 
 quainted with the nature of the sentiments of Sir Wal- 
 ter De Ruthen, or what the state alleged against his 
 holy zeal. There were political reasons for all this to be 
 hush'd up in silence, at least till the daughter of Al- 
 bino had taken the holy vows, and entered the convent 
 
Oft, MARIETTE MOULINE. 81 
 
 of Mariette Mouline ; turning, therefore, towards her 
 page, with constrained complacency, she exclaimed,— 
 
 " Faulkner, conduct Sir Walter de Ruthen to the 
 ^reat seal of the treasury, there to have access to the 
 holy father, Benvolio ; then see that he hath the pro- 
 visions and ammunition he will have liberty to take from 
 the stores of the garrison, well bestowed, ere he de- 
 part the towers of St. Clair ; with cattle well capa- 
 risoned, to help him on his journey hence ; and see 
 that my bidding be obeyed with the nicest exactness 
 and dispatch. So, save you, gallant soldier ! and all 
 imaginable success attend you to the camp of thy 
 great and mighty master." 
 
 Sir Walter bowed his head in silence, which, as the 
 indignant lady waved her hand for him to leave her 
 presence, had more contempt in it than courtesy ; and 
 till he reached the place appointed for the meeting 
 with the crafty priest, not a word was exchanged be- 
 tween him and the youthful page, although they had 
 much to talk of. 
 
 They passed through the long winding passages 
 and gothic chambers, till they reached that suite of 
 apartments which were appropriated to the use and 
 pleasure of the holy father, in profound silence ; fearful 
 that if they exchanged but a whisper with each other, 
 that it would be heard and reported to the Lady Mar- 
 garet by her watchful spies, who were placed in secret 
 ambush, and lurked in every corner of the castle of St. 
 Clair. At length, they reached the entrance of the 
 cardinal's apartment, before which a sentinel walked 
 on duty ; and, ere they could enter there, demanded to 
 know their business, and to give him the pass-word^ 
 before he could allow them to enter the postern-gate : 
 4 L t • 
 
82 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 on which Sir Orville pronounced, with great solem- 
 nity,— 
 
 " Friends to the high and mighty cardinal, the holy 
 and pious father, Benvolio, we come on business from 
 the Lady Margaret Albino." 
 
 " And by her order we are to admit you," surlily re- 
 plied the sentinel : " you are the page of Lady Mar- 
 garet, — that we are aware of ; but who is the stranger 
 that you have brought along with- you, bearing the mi- 
 litary costume of the Austrian army." 
 
 " Sir Walter De Ruthen !" indignantly answered 
 the youthful page ; " aright and gallant soldier ! who 
 hath also business with the Cardinal Benvolio : he is of 
 exalted rank, and bears a high commission in the ser- 
 vice of St. Julian, the Bohemian conqueror !" 
 
 " Whate'er his rank, itistousinditferent, unless thou 
 bearest the order for his admission here," cried the 
 sentinel; " we are bound to have credentials, and those 
 signed with the signature of our illustrious lady : let 
 me behold them, and thou mayest pass freely." 
 
 Sir Orville Faulkner immediately produced them, 
 and which, after being duly examined and handed over 
 to the officer of the guard, no objection was now made 
 to orders so imperative, although looks of suspicion 
 and jealousy were exchanged, one with the other, as 
 Sir Walter passed the postern-gate, with the intrepid 
 gait of a bold warrior, little used to be treated with 
 such fastidious ceremony, or opposed in his designs 
 when he marched against an enemy. 
 
 " A goodly warrior, by ray faith !" cried one of the 
 soldiers, to which the other made no reply ; but reach- 
 ing the ear of Sir Walter, as he journeyed on with his 
 yoiithful guide, he softly murmured, or rather, growled, 
 
OR, IMARIETTE MOULINE. 83 
 
 (for the events of the morning had not rendered the 
 temper of Sir Walter remarkably mild or forbearing, 
 although several times exhorted to patience by Sir 
 Orville Faulkner) " and, by ray sword and buckler, 
 thou shouldst find me such, should I meet thee and the 
 cardinal, whose safety thou so closely watchest, in the 
 camp of the great St. Julian ! dastardly cowards all, 
 and by bribery alone made faithful !" 
 
 " I beseech thee to moderate thy warmth, and thy 
 petulance, gallant Sir Walter," uttered the page of 
 Lady Margaret ; " a word — a look, incautiously given 
 or uttered, in an hour so critical, may expose us to the 
 most imminent danger, and for ever frustrate our de- 
 signs. Made captives within the towers of St. Clair, 
 we never could escape the mysteries that lie concealed 
 here." 
 
 " Never ?" uttered Sir Walter, energetically. — 
 *' Young man, hast thou so little faith in Providence ? 
 or canst thou doubt the goodness of a just and omni- 
 potent Being, whose power is superior to all human 
 agency — to all human means ? if thou dost, I pity thee. 
 But for me, fearless I brave those mysteries you have 
 spoken of ; and, (but for the safety of the lovely maid 
 whom we are about to rescue from the hands of tyran- 
 nic, and cruel, and arbitrary parental authority, and 
 blind fanatic superstition) by holy Paul, I would not 
 stir an inch from these battlements till they fell crumb- 
 ling into dust, or were consumed by flames, on the head 
 of the base usurper of Albino's rights ; — the pious, holy 
 imposter ! — the sanctified libertine ! who, in the pul- 
 pit, soars to preach doctrines which he ne'er has 
 practised, and never means to do ; — the wolf in sheep's 
 clothing ! — and let the world behold the monster in his 
 
84 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 natural form, and avoid the sight of him. Yet feai' 
 not that I will now mar the golden prospect that we 
 have in view ; and when you find me jogging on apace, 
 "with a bit of spleen that I cannot get off my tongue, for 
 the soul of me, when I think of the wrongs of that 
 much-injured fallen hero, the great Albino, and his 
 gallant son, who perished by his side, all through the 
 vile machinations of that perfidious monster ; — I say, 
 brave boy, when thou seest me in the presence of this 
 cold-blooded cardinal, and beholdest the colour of 
 mine rushing to my cheek, like angry floods that would 
 not be opposed in their course, — twitch then my sleeve, 
 or, perchance, strike at my helmet ; or, if thou canst 
 come near to me, whisper the name of Augustina in 
 my ear, and, by my sword and buckler, thouUtfind me 
 mute as a stockfish, and quiet as a dormouse." 
 
 " We are here, great sir," uttered the youthful 
 page, with a countenance somewhat agitated, and a 
 manner, by no means unmarked with trepidation : " we 
 are now arrived at the grand avenue that leads to the 
 cardinal's apartment." 
 
 " Silence is the watch-word then, and caution the 
 order of the day," softly ejaculated Sir Walter De Ru- 
 then, and smiled : " courage, boy ! what art thou 
 -chicken hearted for ; beshrew me, yon white-livered 
 priest dare as well offend his high and mighty mistress, 
 and lose the favour he hath gained in her affections, as 
 wage war with either of us. I have a word — a little 
 word, shall make his ghostly highness tremble beneath 
 his silken robes ; that would go nigh too to shake him 
 from his pillar of fancied greatness, had I a mind to 
 use it." 
 
 " I must, presently, twitch you on the sleeve, or 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 85 
 
 i^trike you on the helmet, I fear sir," uttered Sir Or- 
 ville, " for we are close at the cardinars elbow : be- 
 hold the guards, who will shortly conduct us to his 
 presence " 
 
 The pass-word was now exchanged, and the grand 
 entrance thrown open ; and, after ascending a flight of 
 marble steps, covered with the most costly crimson 
 velvet, a j)aire, as richly habited, waited to receive the 
 errand which had brought them there to seek an audi- 
 ence with his holy highness, now seated on his throne 
 of state. 
 
 " I will inform the Cardinal Benvolio of your ap- 
 proach," uttered he, and vanished in a moment, with 
 the order of the Lady Margaret in his hand. 
 
 *' Beshrew me, but there is nothing like two callings 
 for a man that serveth the church," cried Sir Walter, 
 in an under tone; " for the one doth serve the state, 
 and the other serveth himself; and he is a wise and 
 able servant that doth follow the duties of both mas- 
 ters, while he is feathering his nest all the good while 
 at the expense of both these great masters. This is 
 policy and religion, with a vengeance ! is it not, boy? 
 
 " I must twitch your sleeve, Sir Walter," again as 
 softly responded Sir Orville ; and at this moment the 
 page of the cardinal approached them. 
 
 " This way, sirs ! will it please you to follow me ?" 
 with great solemnity, exclaimed he. 
 
 And so they did, to the great presence of the pious, 
 holy man, seated, with all possible dignity in his high 
 office, and bearing all his blushing honours about him. 
 
 But the most perceptible blush was that which 
 crimsoned his features on the approach of Sir Walter 
 Dd Rathen, who neither bended hit knee nor bowed 
 
86 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 his head before him ; while all others had prostrated 
 themselves according to the fashion of the times. 
 
 " Save you, holy father !" boldly pronounced Sir 
 Walter, as he advanced as boldly towards the sumptu- 
 ous canopy under which the cardinal was seated, in all 
 his pomp and greatness ; and, neither regarding the 
 splendour which surrounded him, nor the homage 
 which was paid him by the sycophants that servilely 
 crouched to his all-commanding nod, he seated himself 
 unceremoniously on a seat near one of the pillars ; only 
 uncovering his head of his weighty helmet, apparently 
 to* relieve himself of the heat which oppressed him : 
 and laying his shield aside merely because he had no 
 use for it at the present moment ; — " Sa,ve you, holy 
 father !" again uttered he, " and the blessing of your 
 ghostly intercession for all us earthly sinners fall among 
 us ! For me, a poor unlucky wight, who has been 
 dropped from the kind heavens, and lighted on a field 
 of battle, where he has seen nought of the pleasures of 
 this life ; but blood and carnage, and poor murdered 
 souls, who have expired without a friendly sermon be- 
 ing preached over them to conduct them on their jour- 
 ney to the other land, — you must not expect to find in 
 me behaviour such as is suited to your holy calling; for 
 I do confess, that I am marvellously ignorant of all 
 such things ; and marvellously stiff in the joints too, 
 so that 1 cannot bend my knee unto your holy worship 
 with the grace that may become me : but, as to the 
 purport of my visit here, why you have the credentials 
 before you that may save all trouble of my rude speech 
 and manners ; which might much offend your high- 
 ness, were I to convey them in language of a rough 
 soldier, and bred in camps. I am like the hare that 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULIME. 87 
 
 foUoweth the hounds ; I have an excellent scent, 
 as it were, and can pounce upon an enemy when I 
 know he is advancing, as well as I can use my mother 
 tongue. You have there, may it please you, holy fa- 
 ther, a slight memorandum of how the matter stands 
 betwixt the master whom I serve and the Lady Mar- 
 garet Albino. She hath been pleased to grant the sup- 
 plies, that soldiers may not die of hunger when they 
 have bfeen fighting in the service of their sovereign. 
 So by your leave, holy father, we will possess ourselves 
 of the same, with all right and imaginable dispatch ; see- 
 ing that I have tarried longer beneath these battlements 
 than may become our necessities, and my noble master 
 may take oifence at the delay." 
 
 The rapidity with which Sir Walter De Ruthen had 
 delivered to the cardinal the whole of this speech, had 
 given him no time to demand a single interrogatory of 
 the Lady Margaret's youthful page ; and having pe- 
 rused her written order with great precision and so- 
 lemnity, during which, his holy countenance had un- 
 dergone several perceptible changes, he, in the mildest 
 accents possible, addressed the intrepid warrior in the 
 following words :— 
 
 • " Whatever may be your vyish to journey hence, Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen, it cannot exceed mine that you 
 may depart in peace from the towers of St. Clair ; 
 and that you may prosper in your ardent zeal and 
 sworn fidelity to serve your liege master, the mighty 
 conqueror, St. Julian ; whose principles, as far as they 
 extend to martial valour, have given him a name in 
 arms, which, indeed, greatly surpass his youthful years, 
 and have rendered him the idol of a people's praise and 
 glory. I do commend him much, I say, for these his 
 
88 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 martial exploits ; at his green age, when older warriors 
 have retreated from the field, dismayed and overpow- 
 ered by their foes. Yet in St. Julian there are faults 
 which " The holy father paused, and coloured deep- 
 ly, for the stern eye of Sir Walter was fixed upon him, 
 with the most scrutinizing attention, determined that 
 no specious language that he could adopt should blind 
 him to his well-known hypocrisy and sophistry of cha- 
 racter ; or that his smiling eloquence should for a 
 moment tempt him to utter aught that should betray 
 the confidence reposed in him by his mighty master : 
 and the pause which the cardinal made was filled up, 
 without a moment's delay, by Sir Walter, who, more 
 loudly than ceremony warranted, in presence of so 
 august a personage, exclaimed, — 
 
 " The faults of St. Julian, holy father, if any faults 
 he hath, more than belong to frail mortality, neither 
 concern you nor me ; nor have they aught to do with 
 my errand here. I beseech your holy highness, dis- 
 patch the business, and let me be gone ; eveyy moment 
 that I tarry here is impregnated with danger and de- 
 lay. Death hovers o'er the camp of St. Julian, and the 
 exhausted soldiery lay wounded, and expiring in their 
 tents for the supplies for which I have been sent ; and 
 they are granted — freely granted — by the lady of Al- 
 bino, to whom I have paid the monies for the same : 
 and whom else doth it concern ? not you, holy father ! 
 Your office is to teach sinners to repentance, and show 
 them the way to heaven 1 perform your duty as a 
 churchman, and meddle not with the state ! and giv- 
 ing you my good counsel, I bid your reverence fare- 
 well I" 
 
 " Thy intemperate warmth. Sir Walter De Ruthen, 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. »9 
 
 becomes you not, when I so courteously wooed you 
 to my converse," uttered the cardinal, with assumed 
 composure ; " but go hence, even as it please you, I am 
 not used to language so uncivil, so uncooth." 
 
 " No, truly I" cried Sir Walter, calmly replacing 
 his helmet which he had taken off, ** because you are 
 not used to the language of truth, which I grant is 
 sometimes uncivil in its letter of introduction to fawn- 
 ing hypocrites, and smiling soothsayers ; you are bet- 
 ter pleased with flattery, holy father, although your 
 calling renders it profane ; but, by my sword and 
 buckler, it is a law that I inwardly despise, and throw 
 it to the dogs to bay the moon with ; for, it is said, that 
 dogs are planet-struck sometimes, as well as priests with 
 strange and idle phantasies that do trouble much the 
 waters when we drink of them ; but, whether true or 
 false, I know not." 
 
 *^ Sir, it doth not become me to parly with such 
 disorderly and opprobrious terms," cried the cardinal, 
 still preserving a calm unruffled brow ; and while he 
 struggled with contentious passions, his pride and 
 policy forbade him to reveal it. " Regarding the in- 
 structions of the Lady Margaret Albino, I will ojb- 
 serve them Sir Walter, — at sunset all things shall be 
 ready for your departure from these battlements, which 
 much I fear hath been little benefited by your pre- 
 sence. But let that matter pass, heaven will protect its 
 faithful votaries against the rancorous malice of its 
 vindictive foes : the widowed wife and the fatherless 
 child will not sue in vain, when they offer up their 
 prayers in pure and fervent devotion to the most high 
 and mighty One ! A virgin saint soon will the daughter 
 of Albino be ! and safe within the walls of the holy 
 4 M t 
 
90 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 sanctuary, she will be secure from the licentious ap- 
 proaches of the tempter that would seduce lovely wo- 
 man from the path of virtue, and lead her into the pro- 
 fane haunts of men : and that it hath been ray -\vork, 
 together with the spirit 1 adore to convert the young 
 maid to such a miracle of wonder and of praise as 
 surpasseth all womankind, the high and mighty hea- 
 vens -receive our thanks. The Lady Margaret too, 
 that most discreet and virtuous matron, hath all due 
 praise from the holy church, for the vestal saint she 
 hath given to such heavenly purposes : whispering an- 
 gels approve, and smile upon this deed, and naught 
 but glory can attend it. 
 
 Bear this Sir Walter, even as thou wilt, to the 
 camp of St. Julian ; I know tbou wilt not be tardy in 
 thy intelligence, and however thou scornest the holy 
 functions of my sacred order, I heed it not ; but much 
 I pity thee, who know'st no better." 
 
 " And would scorn to be taught by thee 1" uttered 
 Sir Walter, as be indignantly turned from the pre- 
 sence of the cardinal, who still concealing his rage, 
 which now burned high within him, coldly and os- 
 tentatiously bade the warrior farewell ; while on lady 
 Margaret's page he smiled most graciously, and sign- 
 ng the order of the grand seal, to furnish the neces- 
 sary supplies for the camp of St. Julian, he motioned 
 to he guards to conduct them out of the postern gates ; 
 through which they passed with the same ceremony as 
 before, only that Sir Walter, ever and anon, cast a look 
 of triumph on the youthful page ; which was alternate- 
 ly exchanged for one of a most contemptuous expres- 
 sion, thrown at the soldiery, who so strongly barrica- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 91 
 
 ded the entrance of the passage which led to the 
 apartnaents of the Cardinal Benvolio. 
 
 " I thought that heaven had been sufficient tc 
 guard a pious priest," uttered he, as he i^ssed thi^ 
 last centinel, who eyed him with suspicion, yet withal, 
 could not help admiring the intrepid bravery of which 
 he seemed possessed ; " but, by my sword and buckler, 
 here are locks, and bolts, and bars, and files and 
 ranks, enough to stock a whole garrison with, that is 
 laying wait for the approaches of an enemy, and is in 
 fear of being besieged by them. Heaven save his most 
 holy reverence, the pious cardinal, I say, from all such 
 bold invaders of his blessed rights and privileges ; but, 
 by the faith of a soldier, it looketh not well, all these 
 barricadings and these cautions, these bolts and bars, 
 and these moats and draw-bridges. If a man stands at 
 ease with himself and his own conscience, he would 
 face danger as a man ought to do ; for what hath inno- 
 cence to do with fear ? canst tell me that, Faulkner ?" 
 
 To which Sir Orville responded, in a low voice, — 
 
 *' Sir, I have had occasion to remind you more than 
 once of your own proposition, — the twitching of your 
 sleeve and the striking at your helmet, when you be- 
 came intemperate in warmth, and hasty in passion,-— 
 but all, I fear'd, would have been to no purpose : a 
 word now uttered against the cardinal, in the hearing 
 of his guards, may authorize them to use violence with 
 impunity. They are armed, we are defenceless." 
 
 " What when I bear a soldier's sword about me ?" 
 uttered Sir Walter, grasping it at the same moment 
 firmly in his band : to which. Sir Orville coolly re- 
 plied, — 
 
 " It is true, sir ! and that you would use it manfully. 
 
02 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 iio doubt ; but what is your sword opposed against 
 many ? Believe me, sir, I venerate your martial cou- 
 rage and your intrepid bravery ; but reflect on your si- 
 ^ation here in these battlements, where there are hun- 
 dreds of soldiery ail under the command of the Car- 
 dinal Benvolio, and you are here with only vassals 
 four in number, whose lives would pay the forfeit of 
 their temerity, did they offer opposition to the high au- 
 thority with which the cardinal is invested here.^ I 
 beseech you, sir, to hear me with patience, and to 
 feign a forbearance which you do not feel ; yet the 
 safety of the lovely Augustina depends upon your 
 calmness : opposition would be useless in this fearful 
 hour; submit to the necessity of the moment, and that 
 moment past, T will no more presume to dictate to one 
 so far above me, but leave thee to thy discretion.'* 
 
 " Boy, hadst thou been Plato, thou couldst not have 
 reasoned better," cried Sir Walter, smiling with com- 
 placency on the agitated features of the youthful page, 
 and feeling more than ever convinced of his un- 
 shaken rectitude, and that he intended to be firm in 
 his purpose, and just to the cause of St. Julian and 
 the fair Bohemian maid ; he added, — 
 
 " Boy, I will trust me to thy counsels, and I will 
 abide by them, come what will, what may 1 Come, we 
 will sojourn, and stay awhile to partake of some re- 
 freshment in the chambers which the Lady Marga- 
 ret hath appointed me the use of, while the cardinal 
 is giving orders that the supplies may be got in readi- 
 ness, and truly he cannot deny that, though the influ^ 
 ence of his ghostly counsel hath done much to sway the 
 mind of Albino's wife, I do not think that from the 
 conference I have held with her, (although it hath dis- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. "98 
 
 pleased her greatly) hath tended to promote her future 
 favour with the holy man. She is staggered in her be- 
 lief of his firm faith to do her service in the state, and 
 that much hath galled her, although, woman-like, she 
 dared not confess it ; and much less to me would she 
 own that she ever thought less of Benvolio, for the 
 hints that I had given her 1 I have left her thus, but, 
 mark you, she did not part with me as one whom she 
 ne'er wished to see again, or one who e'er would 
 wrong her, having it in his power so to do. She hath 
 been beguiled by a holy serpent, in that pious man, and 
 now doth tremble 'at her weak credulity, which could 
 yield so much to his persuasions. Believe me, boy, that 
 women are not so much the fools we take them for; and 
 Margaret hath a soul above the tameness of her quiet 
 sex: she hath never been in her person lovely or desiring 
 in the eyes of men ; but she hath the witchery of twen- 
 ty beauties in her tongue, and that induced the great 
 Albino's lord to marry her. She won him, once a gay 
 and gallant youth, not over wise, and scarce had num- 
 bered twenty, when his great father left him in full 
 possession of the vast treasures of St. Clair : and 
 Margaret then an heiress was, in her own right. How 
 she wooed him to her arms, I know not, for many smi- 
 ling beauties at that time contended for his hand. 
 But Margaret was the only claimant that succeeded 
 in an entire possession of his hand, (whate'er her doubt- 
 ful claims to the possession of his heart) and in this 
 she exulted. She had obtained all she wished ; and, 
 by superlative art and flattery, so entirely gained an 
 ascendency over her weak and infatuated lord, as to 
 induce him to be guided alone by her counsels ; in ad- 
 dition to which, slie was the mother of two lovely chil- 
 
94 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 dren, of whom Lord Albino was passionately fond. 
 Augustina, the first fruits of his marriage with the 
 Lady Margaret, was a paragon of beauty and smiling 
 innocence, which she inherited from her father, of 
 whom, in features, she was the exact model ; and 
 Fernando her brave brother, two years younger, not 
 less resembled the manly graces of Lord Albino. Nei- 
 ther daughter nor son had the slightest resemblance of 
 their haughty mother in person ; and much less did they 
 claim affinity with her proud and rebellious disposition, 
 and her crafty and parsimonious principles. And while 
 Albino lived, — and he lived long enough to inculcate in 
 the minds of his children the influenceof virtue, by which 
 he himself was swayed; and by which they were taught 
 to adore the Supreme more from the natural impulse of 
 their own hearts, than compelled to do so from the 
 mere outward forms of religion : and from this early 
 bias, it was not in the power of their mother to dis- 
 suade them. The religious principles of the Lady 
 Margaret were widely different, and she could not alter 
 those so strongly engrafted in her children ; they 
 sought God in private, — she in' public ! they gave 
 alms in the most secret manner, for the relief of the 
 suffering and the distrest ; not wishing that their bene- 
 factions should be made known, except to him who had 
 inspired their hearts with pity : they implored the 
 passing tribute of a sigh, but they dropped the mite for 
 relief of the unfortunate in a way so delicate that it was 
 HDseen by the multitude : while the charities and be- 
 quests of the pious Lady Margaret were always enrol- 
 led in the public newspapers, by her own particular 
 desire ! that her goodness and her propensity to chari- 
 table deeds might never be doubted. There was policy, 
 
95 
 
 even in these matters of religious -duties! for what is 
 humanity but religious duties? and what is religion 
 without humanity ? Yet the Lady Margaret wished 
 that her religion should be made public, and she had, 
 for this pious purpose, an able counsellor and friend in 
 the Cardinal Benvolio, then in high repute, from the 
 purity of his doctrines and the high authority with 
 which he was invested from the powers of the state: 
 and in his hands large sums of money were deposited 
 by the Lady Margaret to supply the wants of the 
 several convents, who, from report of the holy father, 
 were suffering under indigence and distress, on con- 
 dition that this pious man would enrol her name among 
 the number of the contributors of this charitable relief 
 of the miseries of these cold and cloistered saints ; and 
 none groaned under the burden of poverty more than 
 the holy sisterhood, shut out from light and day in the 
 convent of Mariette Mouline, in which the holy father 
 was a ghostly confessor; and in this convent he first 
 obtained the notice, and also the favours of the Lady 
 Margaret Albino, while engaged in his pious orgies, 
 and charitable benefactions. ^ 
 
 She beheld him, as then he was seated on his paro- 
 chial throne, in the midst of an assembly that listened 
 to his doctrines as though a second Saviour had de- 
 scended from the skies to save, a second time, man- 
 kind. 
 
 Scarce arrived, but certainly not past the vigour of 
 the prime of manhood, the holy prelate stood six feet 
 high ; and finely proportioned were his sinewy and 
 polished limbs ; fit for a statuary, he might have 
 passed for an Apollo of Belvidere, , had the priest 
 numbered some years younger. But he was young 
 
96 THE MYSTERIES OF ST, CLAIR; 
 
 enough to rivet the eyes of Lady Margaret towards 
 him with pleasure — with wonder — with delight! al- 
 though tlie pious, virtuous lady called it holy enthusiasm, 
 and devout rapture ! It might be such ; but such it 
 was as to induce the pious lady to seek an interview 
 with the pious gentleman ! and truly, at this period 
 there was some temptation in the figure and the coun- 
 tenance of the holy father 1 
 
 Whose features were perfect symmetry ! — his hair of 
 a light shade of auburn,— -his complexion radiant and 
 fair I his mouth small, and exhibiting a row of pearly 
 teeth ! — and his eyes blue, soft, and languishing ! — ^his 
 voice melodious, and his manners gentle and persuasive ! 
 
 No wonder, then, that when summoned to the pre- 
 sence of the great Albino's lady, that he bended low 
 in humble obedience to her ; while he exalted himself 
 a step or two higher in his own estimation, as she 
 charged him with the great office of being treasurer to 
 her charitable benefaction in the convent of Mariette 
 Mouline, from which she had received such earnest 
 petitions for relief. 
 
 And, for a while, he discharged these duties of com- 
 mission, and continued to increase in favor with the 
 lady of Albino ; even so much had he influenced her 
 with the spirit of his holy calling and devout zeal, that 
 she commended him to her dear lord, to obtain a high- 
 er office of authority than even that which he had before 
 in the court of Vienna; and, with her dear lord, the word 
 of Lady Margaret was a law, and by habit, more than 
 by choice, he granted her requests, and acceded to all 
 her wishes, however absurd. 
 
 And, in due course of time, the priest Benvolio be- 
 came a favourite with the Lord Albino, as much as 
 
OR, MARIKTTK MOULfiNK. ^7 
 
 with his lady, and a cardinal by the same speciouis 
 means, you now behold him. Blame not the affairs of 
 state, when a woman's smile, or a womans' frowi^ 
 can overturn a mighty empire, give churchmen a place 
 
 in parliament, and " A gentle twitch of the sleeve 
 
 from Sir Orville Faulkner, reminded the undaunted 
 warrior that they were within hearing, and he post- 
 poned all further conversation to a more convenient 
 opportunity. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ** Present example gets within our guard. 
 And acts with double farce— by f«w repell'd. 
 Ambition fires ambition ; love of gain 
 Strikes, like a pestilence, from breast to breast; 
 Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe ; 
 And inhumanity is caught from man ; 
 From smilius; man, a slight, a single glanee. 
 And shot at random, often has brought home 
 A sudden fever to the throbbing heart, 
 Of envy, rancour, or impure deyire.*' 
 
 Dr. Young. 
 
 WHEN the attendants had entirely withdrawn from 
 the apartments that Sir Waltor de Ruthv^en occupied, 
 during his abode at the castle, while he partook of the 
 jumptuous meal which was spread' before him; in 
 yhich he had the company of Sir Orville Faulkner, by 
 I he express command of the Lady Margaret, that he 
 
 a 5 N 
 
98 T»K MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 might attend the warrior, in order to see that the sup- 
 plies and the ammunition were all got in readiness, 
 and well bestowed, for his final departure from the 
 towers of St. Clair. 
 
 And, certainly, nothing could be more favourable or 
 auspicious to their present designs on the lovely Au- 
 gustina than these very commands of the Lady Mar- 
 garet, which gave the youthful page and Sir Walter 
 De R^then an opportunity of being together in private 
 converse, and to consult on the best means now left of 
 putting those plans into execution and effect. 
 
 Scarce were the attendants withdrawn, therefore, 
 when it was proposed by Sir Orville that he should 
 steal quietly into the gardens of the pagoda ; matins be- 
 ing long since performed, and all having retired to their 
 respective duties, save alone Madame La Roche and 
 her lovely, mistress, who were permitted to walk some 
 hours there for healthful air and exercise ; at which 
 time they were seldom watched by the emissaries of 
 Lady Margaret, or even the vigilant spies of the father 
 Benvolio, who well knew there was no probability in 
 these gardens that they would be approached by mortal 
 being, much less that they would ever wander beyond 
 the boundaries which it prescribed ; and these were 
 hours, for which Augustina and her faithful attendant, 
 watched the approach, with the most eager delight 
 and most transported joy : it was the only spot in which 
 they could not be broken in upon by the intrusive gaze 
 of the Lady Margaret's curious and prying attendants, 
 — it was the only place where no unhallowed step 
 could rob them of their three hours sweet discourse 5 
 and it was no wonder, then, that the bower of roses was 
 •.heir favorite retreat, to which they silently stole along 
 
OR, MARIfiTTE MOULINB. 99 
 
 after the vassals had retired to rest, and when no eye, 
 save the great Creator's, was witness to their sacred 
 intercourse of friendship. 
 
 Ere the sun sets all will be ready for your departure, 
 and you will no longer be suffered to sojourn here when 
 all is obtained that you came hither to seek. Pardon 
 me. Sir Walter de Ruthven, if my bold speech offends > 
 but I must speak plainly, ere you will give a patient 
 hearing to my discourse. 
 
 '* Well, and thou speakest rightly, boy !*' answered 
 Sir Walter; plain speaking and plain truth is the 
 only language I have been taught to listen to/' 
 
 " Well, then, sir, having displeased the Cardinal 
 Benvolio," said Sir Orville, " I am in duty bound to 
 forewarn you that every minute beyond the time limited 
 for your stay beneath these battlements teems with 
 danger. Although he did not part with you as one 
 who had offended his holy highness, yet, believe me* 
 he is possessed of ample power in his high office of au- 
 thority to do you wrong ; nor wants he the inclination. 
 The minutes, therefore, are precious between this and 
 sunset ; and I have much to perform in the great cause 
 Ibr which we are both so anxious, — the safety of the 
 beauteous Augustina. In half an hour hence, she will 
 be in «the gardens of the pagoda with Madame La 
 Roche, and there will I seek an opportunity of con- 
 versing with her, and introduce you, if possible, while 
 they remain there. But this must be done imme- 
 diately; in order to which, I will leave you for 
 awhile ; and begin my occupation : I will return and 
 give you intelligence as soon as possible." 
 
 "By my sword and buckler, it were far better that 
 I should go with thee," uttered Sir Walter, jocosely. 
 
}00 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 " Thon canst let me wait in ambush behind some tree, 
 ©r pop me into some gothic pavilion, while you engage 
 with the ladies 5 then, if thou wantest assistance, call 
 me forth, and I will be your faithful ally, my boy, 
 through the rest of the business." 
 
 ^* Sir, had you not better let me reconnoitre a little 
 first," replied the youthful page, smiling : '^ should you 
 be discovered, by any accident, before I have spoken 
 to Madame La Roche, the consequences might be 
 fatal." 
 
 " Do, even as thou wilt, I will abide thy bidding ; 
 but see that thou return with some intelligence of the 
 fair Bohemian lady," cried Sir Walter, '^ for, truly, 
 boy, patience is a virtue that I am not much gifted 
 with." 
 
 Sir Orville now departed on his embassy, leaving 
 Sir Walter to reflect, for a moment, on the peculiarity 
 <if his situation. He was, in the first plac<?, the sworn 
 «iemy both of the Lady Margaret Albino, and of the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, whom he had much offended ; and 
 he was also anxious fbr the fate of the lovely victim 
 they were about to sacrifice to false piety and fanatic 
 superstition, who was the idol of the great St. Julian, 
 whom he served with such unshaken zeal and fidelity 
 that he would perish ere he would deceive him, or for- 
 feit the implicit confidence he had reposed in his honour; 
 and he had formed a daring and a dangerous enterprize, 
 that no mortal man had ever risked before ; and in this 
 enterprize there was so much danger, that if it had 
 failed, his life would become the forfeit of his temerity: 
 to steal an heiress, and, also, a vestal saint, offered up 
 to the convent of Mariette Mouline, was certain death, 
 if the perpetrators of such a crime could be discovered ; 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINB. lOL 
 
 even if with her own cponsent she permitted it to take 
 place, there was no escape from the sentence of the law, 
 in Bohemia, in such a case ; however strong the neces- 
 sity, and however just the cause, provided that the 
 offender became known, and it could not remain a secret 
 long ; nor could the protection even of the mighty con- 
 queror, St. Julian, afford him the least assistance, even 
 though Augustina had become his wife. Still he would 
 suffer the sentence pronounced for his first offence in 
 enticing her away from the roof of her mother ; and, 
 for the second offence, because her virgin vows had 
 been offered up to the holy church : and, for a moment, 
 Sir Walter suffered a momentary apprehension of the 
 dangers which threatened him, even if his plans suc- 
 ceeded in taking the daughter of Albino from the cas- 
 tle of St. Clair, and placing her, in triuniph, in the arms 
 of St. Julian ; but how momentary, in the breast of this 
 faithful and intrepid soldier, was any sensation which 
 was accompanied by fear; and the powerful emotions 
 that weighed against it, were such as to induce him to 
 abandon it altogether, and fearlessly to encounter death, 
 in every shape to serve the master whom he loved. 
 
 And in this noble and generous resolve. Sir Walter 
 had forgot the difficulties he had yet to surmount, 
 or the dangers, also, which would befal another, equal- 
 ly zealous in the cause, though instigated, perhaps, 
 from different motives. The situation of Sir Orville 
 Faulkner was equally critical as his own, and though 
 his apostacy to Lady Margaret would be attributed to 
 his influence wholly, yet, in the flight of the Bohe- 
 mian maid, he would equally be made chargeable, and 
 become an equal sharer in the offence, and, consequent- 
 ly, in the punishipent of such a crime: besides. Sir 
 
IQSJ THE MTSTERIBS OF ST, CLA.IR J 
 
 Wftlter h^4 not once reflected that theye was still 
 th^ qon^ent of Augustina herself, to be obtained, to 
 her quitting the roof of her lady mother, and throwing 
 herself under the immediate protection of St. Julian; 
 perhaps the delicacy and the timidity of this lovely, 
 elegant, and innocent maid, might shrink from a pro- 
 posal so suddenly made ; and that however stern and 
 austere was her haughty mother, or peremptory in her 
 commands, that the daughter of Albino, who imbibed 
 the purest notions of propriety, from the virtuous 
 principles of education inculcated in her by her noble 
 father, would reflect on the duty that she owed to a 
 parent ; and that there would be some struggles and 
 some feelings strongly opposed to her love, even for 
 St. Julian. 
 
 Most anxiously, therefore, did Sh- Walterwait for the 
 arrival of the youthful page, from the gardens of the 
 pagoda ; scarcely in his short absence, (for Sir Orville 
 Faulkner had not (juitted him but half an hour,) being 
 able to endure the torment of suspense— the most 
 painful sensation in existence. 
 
 But at length he arrived, and the very first look 
 that Sir Walter directed towards his pale and agitated 
 countenance, convinced him, tliat their designs on the 
 Bohemian lady had been unsuccessful, or had been 
 detected ; nor was he mistaken, for in breathless ac- 
 cents. Sir OiTille exclaimed,—- 
 
 " Sir, I grieve to tell you, that my utmost efforts 
 have not been able to prevail 5 and that Augustina pe- 
 temptorily refuses to leave the roof of her mother un- 
 der circumstances which she conceives so derogatory 
 to tfie character of a virtup^s fepaale ; she deplores 
 the cruelty of her fate, and tljie sufferings of St. Julian, 
 
OR^ ftfARIBTTB MOULI^B. 103 
 
 with tears, confessing, that she so truly loved him, 
 that to part with him eternally, in this world, was a 
 bitter trial of her heart's anguish ; but to live with St. 
 Julian, although his lawful bride, and that he could 
 make her empress of the whole created world, from her 
 high sense of female honor, and female prudence, she 
 must refuse, while loaded with a mother's curse, and a 
 mother's vengeance ; which, were she to abandon her 
 paternal roof, would incessantly follow and pursue her, 
 even though in the arms of a husband : yet she could 
 not abandon her mother, from whom she derived her 
 existence, and be happy, even in the embraces of her 
 loved St. Julian, while she thought that her mother 
 was rendered miserable for her sake." 
 
 ^' Then, by my sword and buckler, let the perverse 
 fair one die a maid !" cried Sir Walter, highly incensed 
 and mortified at the total failure of all his plans, 
 with respect to his mighty master ; ^* let her, with 
 cloistered nuns, enjoy the pleasures of a convent's 
 gloom, and ^^ste out the sweet bloom of fresh and 
 roseate youth, by midnight lamps, and, with holy friars, 
 in black cowls and shaven heads, pass her days in si- 
 lence and in nothingness ; and, in blessed singleness, 
 count her beads, till she grow weary of her holy pias- 
 time ! If she hath a cheek of rose, which they say she 
 hath, may the rose wither ! — if she hath lilies in her 
 snowy bosom, may the light of the holy taper, to 
 which she pays her nightly orisons, discolour and 
 change their pearly hue, till they be dark ^ the plu- 
 mage of the night- screaming bird, the hideous raven I 
 — if her tresses ate as gold, which I have heard St. Ju- 
 lian dcsci'ibe them, may they turn grey ere she hath 
 numbered twenty ! and those rosy lips, which I have 
 
104 TMB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLVIr; 
 
 also heard him speak of with delight, till his soul sick- 
 ened with rapture, to behold this Woman-idol, that so 
 early caught his boyish fancy, and whom no other 
 hath superseded, in his great affections, — I say, that 
 when those roseate lips first open, to pronounce the 
 vows of everlasting virginity, to that cold sanctuary, 
 which she has preferred to the great St. Julian's love — 
 to reign the undivided empress of his heart and throne — - 
 may those lips be pale for ever, and never have life, or 
 !?;weetness morel Fantastic maid ! would that the 
 great St. Julian, for whose hand princesses have con- 
 tended, had sighed for aught but this Bohemian 
 beauty, who so fickle and capricious is, that she doth 
 not know her own mind; or, knowing it, would try 
 what woman's power and woman's beauty can en- 
 force over the noble heart that she hath made the cap- 
 tive of her charms. By my sword and buckler, were 
 I the great St. Julian I would sigh ho more for the coy 
 maid, nor any such proud, scornful beauty, that would 
 not seek to know the difference betwixt a cold, joyless, 
 cloistered convent's gloom, to the happiness she would 
 find in the arms of such a man as St. Julian. Thou 
 hast never beheld him, Faulkner ; but when thou dost, 
 thou wilt say, the world boasts not his fellow r not yet 
 arrived at the prime of manhood, although in youthful 
 vigour, you ne'er beheld so perfect a form and face as 
 that of the Bohemian conqueror; and I do not think 
 that five and twenty summers have yet passed o'er his 
 head, ahd he^in shining arms and deeds of valour, hath 
 numbered twice as much ; and yet he is to be slighted, 
 forsooth, by this baby girl, as so, at best, I term her. 
 Had she but possessed the mind and the heart of a 
 heroine — nay, 1 do pronounce, had she been gifted 
 
OR, MARIBTTB MOULINB. 105 
 
 with half the spirit of the Lady Margaret, who is her 
 mother, she never had scorned St. Julian's love, or 
 feared to encounter the perils of her safety, vi^hen such 
 a bright istar as him was to light he'r on her way. 
 Love St. Julian ! I will not believe the idle tale that 
 e'er she loved, or knows the constancy of love's sweet 
 passion 3 which in woman's heart, burns with far more 
 ardour than ever man felt or knevi^ ! It is woman's ele- 
 ment, and her sweet privilege to know no other pas- 
 sion that becomes her half so well ! and for that, what 
 hath not woman dared ? — what perils, what dangers, 
 hath not woman encountered ? — what shame, what dis- 
 grace, hath she not shared ? Ah ! we are behind in wo- 
 man—far, far behind — where love becomes a chaste 
 and holy fire, that is not t6 b^^ q'li^hch^d' by whole 
 lengthened years of servitude, of hard suffering, and 
 patient bondage. In sickness, or in sorrow — in wealth, 
 or ki prosperity, ^till woman's heart never changeth 
 tO' the first object of her bosom's choice; faithful to 
 the last expiring sigh that nature l!)reathes, she h 
 alonie' steadfast- and unchanging in her fond affection ! 
 Through winter's icy shows, and'stimrtibrV scorching 
 /leat, sh6 ventures \Vhere her affection arid her duty 
 lead the way; even in death she clasp^ the cold 
 clay, which in life she loved, and mourns, like the 
 tender dove, foi* the spirit that is d^part^, arid no loii- 
 ger her's, — still she regardeth it with decent ceremony, 
 and suffereth no unhallowed step to approach it. Yet, 
 oft blamed for her seerrilRg inconStaridy, when she 
 weds a second, she i& chat^ged by the urifeeling arid 
 the licentious world, \\Tith levity, and even wantonness; 
 as if celibacy in womankind, was any more a requi- 
 site or a necessary duty incumbent upOn her, than 
 bb o 
 
106 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 upoa man. But^ I'igUtly considered, it is far less so; for 
 woniaHj, from her delicate and fragile nature, stands in 
 need of protection, and it is wise for her to seek it, 
 and secure it, when she can. But, for this proud Bohe- 
 mian beauty, she would both scorn and refuse the 
 protection of the man who offers her both, and who 
 loves her, as holy pilgrims love the holy shrine ; yet 
 she ^scorneth both, from mere maiden coyness and af- 
 fected pride.'* 
 
 *' Sir Walter De Ruthen, you wrong the beauteous 
 maiden much !'' uttered the youthful page, deeply 
 colouring, and now feeling a resentment which he 
 had no longer the power of suppressing ; '^ by holy 
 Paul ! you wrong her by this foul reproach ! she loves 
 St. Julian with maiden modesty, she hath confessed 
 to me she truly loves him." 
 
 " Why then doth she not seek his protection ?" ut- 
 tered Sir Walter, " and such protection astmay not 
 shame that maiden's modesty, which so highly you 
 extol ; — why doth she tamely submit to become the 
 victim of arbitrary power, and prefer a cloister's gloom, 
 to a life of happiness with the youthful conqueror, and 
 Bohemia's glory and Bohemia's pride ? unless thou 
 canst tell me why, I will blame her still." 
 
 ^' Then you will blame her falsely, sir 1" uttered Sir 
 Orville 5 " but hear me out, and patiently listen to my 
 discourse till I have made an end of it : — I hied me to 
 the gardens of the pagoda, and, unseen, unwatched, by 
 mortal eye, approached the bower of roses, where 
 Madame La Roche and the beauteous daughter of 
 Albino were sitting .together in social converse. 
 
 They started at my accosting them, wondered how 
 I had gained admission without the knowledge of the 
 
OR, MARIETIE MOULINE. l©/ 
 
 Lady Margaret, and briefly demanded to know my 
 errand, and my business there ; which I as briefly re- 
 lated, for there was no time for delay; and which, when 
 I had made a finish of, had nearly produced fainting in 
 the lovely maid. Thrice did her cheek turn pale, and 
 thrice it flashed all o'er with a roseate red ; while in 
 faultering accents she demanded to know, at what hour 
 you departed from the battlements of St. Clair, and in 
 what manner you parted with the Cardinal Benvolio ? 
 and, when I told her, thrice tunied her lovely cheek 
 pale again, and thrice she blushed with crimson. 
 
 '' My resolve is already made,*' uttered she : " bear 
 to St. Julian the true love that a young maid has ever 
 borne him ; and if thou goest with Sir Walter, tell him 
 the hard struggle, 'twixt love and duty, that you have 
 seen me suffer ! but, oh ! do not let St. Julian think 
 that the daughter of Albino will e'er consent to pro- 
 ceedings so rash and sudden : or, that I would become 
 his bride, under circumstances of so mysterious and 
 suspicious a nature 1 Shall my fair fame, which was 
 the glory'and the pride of my gallant father, be forfeit- 
 ed by an act like thi» ? — shall I clandestinely leave my 
 mother's house, and become the sport of scandal to 
 idle fools, by a step so desperate ? No ! rather will I 
 perish first ! tell him this, and that the virtue which 
 my dear father engrafted in my tender years, burns 
 high within me ; and I ne'er will shame his sacred 
 counsels by an act that a maiden's modesty would 
 blush to name ; and yet I ne'er will shame to own that 
 I love St. Julian I To my stern mother have I owned 
 it, and to Benvolio have I oft confessed it. Yes ! St. 
 Julian is dear to me as the light of heaven, or the 
 breath I draw ! but with the pure flame of sacred virtue 
 only can I love him.." 
 
108 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 '' Then you will take the holy vovv, lady/' uttered I, 
 *' and renounce St. Julian for ever ?— must I^ perforce, 
 be^r this message to Sir Walter, ere he departs tq thie 
 camp of St. Julian? Answer quickly, for quickly 
 jpust he leavp your mother's battlements, or well yoi^ 
 K'pow the forfeit of l|is life WQul4 answer tl^e offei^ce 
 of long tarrying here/' 
 
 " The Boheipian maid for a while stood irresolute, 
 like some beauteous statue that had not the gift of 
 speec]i. Of the pow^r of m9tion; apd mucl^ struck 
 by her speecfile^s grief, ]\Iadame La Roche importuned 
 her for an answer, at the s^me moment that she re- 
 4^|i^e^ h^f \\ wf.f ^o, tip,:^p to ^Jiew a woman's weak- 
 ^f^, 9f to evii;ip^ ^^i)m£|^i's fear, 
 
 '' P^. firm, pj. 4^g^^t^^9b" exclaimed sjie, " in this 
 \\(i\x\^ of pj^ril, to t^ijne ow^ safety a«4 to that of others, 
 whp wou\^ th^s., in ^l^e ftici^ of dan^ev, and even death, 
 ^^p (qrtlft t^, secv^r^ t\\9e. Tfeink ijiot ojf thy another, 
 jff \(VhM '^^^ ^'^P vv^puld sujf^if ;, if tljioiu art resplved to 
 ^59, wi,^h Sir Walter, oi; aijt vesolved to stay, say at 
 oj^9^, thy resolution j-r-but wl^at ^% mother feels, or 
 e'^ would feel, m^se thee, it is 99:11 tetpptuous i and { 
 would laugh to scprn such idle fears, weve I the dauglk- 
 ter of Albinp, a^d were sp beloved as tbou art by a 
 np^ghty and a youthful conqueror, who shines in such 
 glory, like a, bright star, that envious malice or envy, 
 n^'er can, reavh to do hina. harm. I would defy a 
 thousand mofch.^rs^ a.n(J a thousand pious priests to op- 
 pp^9, rpy yout^M i'^lwi^ ipn, wer^ 9ill such mothers 
 li;1^9 the La(Jy Margaret, ao4 ^M such pious priests, 
 tlj^ Cardinal Bp^ygjio !r— Nay, why tremble&t thou, 
 ra^, A^gustina, and why doth thy cheek tura pale ?" 
 
 For ^whJJiQ, the^ lovely maid struggled with the 
 soft tumults thp* illed her gentle breast with love ajad? 
 
OR, MARIJETTB MOULINE. 109 
 
 filial duty ; and, oh ! had you seen her, sir, as I did, — 
 had you beheld her heaven-born countenance, as she 
 turned expressively her eyes, blue as the azure hea- 
 vens, full upon Madame La Roche, so moistened with 
 tears, that they fell in torrents, and could not be re- 
 strained o'er her beauteous cheek,— like the dews that 
 the first breath of morning sheds on the opening flow- 
 epSj-rr-so soft, so gentle, fell the tears of the Bohemian 
 maid, as, in trembling accents, she thus addressed 
 me,^^ 
 
 ^^ Faulkner, I have ever thought that you bore a 
 mind of virtue, and a kindness of disposition, — far, far 
 from what I should have imagined, from the influence 
 that prevails amongst all the vassals in the castle of 
 St. Clair,TTTand, asi such, I trust you with a high com- 
 mission to St. Julian's page, the gallant Sir Walter 
 De RuthcB, whom, on no account, my mother wished 
 me to see ; but I know him well, and to St. Julian he 
 bears an upright heart about him, and for that, I do 
 much respect the gallant soldier. Tell him all this,-^ 
 that Augustina bears in mind his loyal services, and 
 his unshaken fidelity to his mighty master ; — bear him 
 this, ring of precious gold, and tell him to wear it for 
 my sake, — for that very love he owes St. Julian : and 
 see that thou place it on his finger, Faulkner, ere he 
 departs from the castle of St. Clair; but with It, 
 bear also my heart's firm and irrevocable resolve. 
 I will not quit my mother's roof clandestinely, though 
 consuming flames bury me beneath my father's battle- 
 n)ents ! I will Bot consent to an act, that may suPJy 
 my fair spotless fame with dishonour, or wound the 
 feelings of my mother, to upbraid her child* hereafter 
 with the cause of her unhappinees. Dear is St. Julias 
 
110 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR j 
 
 to Augustina, as the light of heaven ! — from a 
 child 1 ever loved him ; — the first name my infant lips 
 pronounced, was the name of Julian : we lived and 
 grew together, like berries on one stalk, or as twin 
 roses, we twined together on one parent tree ! I loved 
 my young brother also : and I thought I loved St. 
 Julian too, with the same innocent and chaste fondness, 
 only with this difference was my affection marked be- 
 tween them, — that when St. Julian, in sportive play, 
 used to call me his pretty sister, I know not how it 
 was, that I so deeply blushed and sighed when I was 
 left alone, and thanked the gods that he were not my 
 brother; but, when Fernando called me his pretty 
 sister, and as warmly did caress me, I neither blushed 
 nor sighed, as I were wont to do with St. Julian : 
 which made me oft suspect, as I grew to womanhood^ 
 that 1 felt that passion which bewilders womankind. 
 My great father, too, would oft delight, when we sat 
 alone, conversing in yon bower of roses, to steal some 
 fancy from my girlish mind about the young boy who 
 was the wonder and the pride of all Bohemia; and 
 scraps and parcels he did slyly gather of such dis- 
 course as made him apt to think I loved St. Julian. 
 And so I did, and so I do now ; yet, I should disgrace 
 the love I bear him, were I once to sully the brilliant 
 light with which it burns 1 Tell Sir Walter this, — and 
 that I will be true to virtue, and to St. Julian, while 1 
 breathe the breath of life, without this rash act he 
 fain would have me take : nor will I e'er consent to 
 take the holy vow ! Never, in the sight of heaven, will 
 I enter the convent of Mariette Mouline, the vestal 
 saint they fain would have me be, and firm to this 
 purpose I will be for evermore. Farewell, Faulkner! 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. Ill 
 
 thou hast heard my last resolve ; bear it to the gallant 
 soldier, who is the follower of St. Julian's fortune, anil 
 if thou goest with him, may all good wishes and suc- 
 cess attend thee on thy way; perchance we meet 
 again in happier times, Faulkner, Til ne'er forget the 
 services thou hast rendered to me, nor the dangers 
 thou wouldst so generously have encountered for the 
 daughter of Albino : so, heaven save you, gentle sir, 
 farewell !" 
 
 These w^ere the last words, sir, I heard pronounced 
 by the Bohemian maid ; and, truly, I shall never for- 
 get the look she cast upon me as I left her beauteous 
 presence. Alas ! who can tell, if ever more I am de- 
 stined to behold her ?" 
 
 " By my sword and buckler ! that can I not tell," 
 uttered Sir Walter; "but a plague on all women, 
 I say, when they are like to give a man so much pains 
 to come at them. Not but what I prize the ring o! 
 this beauteous queen, whom thou art many fathoms 
 deep in love with, boy, or I am much mistaken : ond, 
 beshrew me, it were a goodly task to take you from 
 the sight of so dangerous a beauty. Well, then, now 
 to the camp of St. Julian ; and, since there is no hope 
 of taking the lady \vith us, why we must e'en go by 
 ourselves. If, indeed, thou art resolved to be the fol- 
 lower of the fortunes of St. Julian, be ready and reso- 
 lute in thy resolves, for another day shall not dawn 
 on me in these hateful battlements : to me more hate- 
 ful from the disappointments I have so grievously sus- 
 tained in my plans and yeishes ! If therefore, boy, you 
 are determined to go, let us be jogging; but how 
 will you contrive to steal away from the presence of 
 your haughty mistress ? There will be danger in your 
 
112 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 5 
 
 being seen with me, or any of my vassals, When oncv 
 the ammunition is safely bestowed and all things ready 
 for my departure ; and, on the other hand, if thou jonr- 
 neyest after n*e, where shall we agree to meet ? The 
 country through which yon will have to travel, is de- 
 sdate and wild^ and many of the passes are almost 
 rendered rriaccessible by the heavy rains, which at this 
 season of the year, lay in complete sheets of water, 
 near that part of the coast Avhich leads to the camp of 
 St. Julian. I fear me much, boy, that you will en- 
 counter danger, if thou jom*neyest without me ; and if 
 th'oxr goest vdth me, thy danger -will be no less, from 
 the vengeance that will pursue thee from the Lady 
 Margaret and the Cardinal Benvolio. 
 
 *"^ There are other perils, too, — there are robbers and 
 renegades lurking about the country through which 
 you mil have to pass. They may surprise:— rob 
 you, and would not hesitate to murder you, if they 
 gained a single sous by the perpetration of such a 
 crime, which they consider nothing in their lawless 
 trade of blood and rapine. Now, boy, shouldst fliou 
 fair in' the way of these blood-houiids, Itirking'on- the 
 ©anks of the dark Danube or sojourning in the forest 
 that paves the way to the camp of our mighty con- 
 queror, St. Julian, it would pierce itt'e* dfeeply to hear 
 that such had been thy fate 5— after thy brave young 
 heart hath panted so mucti fdr tfie" interest and the 
 happiness of St. Julian and' the Bbhemi^n lady, it 
 would, indeed, grieve me much to fiiad that any ill had- 
 been the reward only of airthy painff. TelPnie, then, 
 how will you quit these hated'battlbments Without dis- 
 covery ? or, can you aught advise how we may meet 
 again, if, perchance, I go without you?* 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. Il3 
 
 To which, the youthful page calmly replied, — 
 
 ^' ,Sir, long ere this hour, I considered the means by 
 which 1 intend to escape, and to avoid the vigilance, 
 as well as the vengeance of my pursuers ; as, no doubt, 
 some will pursue me, the moment I am missing in at- 
 tendance at the accustomed hour on the person of my 
 mistress. Believe me, I have not thought of this great 
 danger, without some apprehension, that even liberty — 
 nay, perhaps, life, would be the consequence of my de- 
 sertion from the service of the Lady Margaret Albino, 
 whose proud and haughty soul would not brook the 
 nature of such an offence, without seeking punishment 
 for the great crime 1 had committed, in defiance of her 
 authority and the cardinal's; — nay, jealousy and 
 .suspicion, which form the grpatest feature in her as- 
 piring and proud rebellious disposition, would sign 
 my passport to death, in lingering tortures, the very 
 instant that my apostacy to her was discovered : for 
 Lady Margaret is, by nature, cruel,, Sir Walter ; she 
 delights to torture even those she loves ; what then 
 would she not do towards those whom she regards but 
 coldly, or who are the objects of her direct ven- 
 geance ?" 
 
 ^^ By my sword and buckler, 1 do not exactly know 
 but I have a tolerable shrewd guess," uttered Sir 
 Walter, with a smile ; " and, like a cat, had«t thou 
 nine lives, she would catch you in her trap : would that 
 her pious friend, the holy cardinal, were once caught 
 in itj as I think he soon will be, before he has done 
 with her. By the faith of a soldier, I would give the 
 one half of mine inheritance, from the dear laurels 1 
 ^ave gained in the field of glory, to see him caught 
 'n such a trap as Margaret's: did ho once seriously 
 
 c 5 p 
 
114 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 offend her, his holy reverence would have a hard mat- 
 ter to break her bondage, with all his pious exhorta- 
 tions, and the prayers he puts up to the saints in the 
 convent of Mariette Mouline. It would be a trap, 
 from which none of them would be like to set him free I 
 But come, tejl me how you will escape this sybel, that 
 hath a syren's tongue, with a hyaena's face ?'' 
 
 " There is but one way," answered Sir Orville, 
 *^ and that requires your consent, ere I can perfectly 
 achieve it : one of the vassals who accompanied you 
 in your journey to these gothic towers, from the camp 
 of St. Julian, is a Bohemian, his name " 
 
 " Francisco !" quickly vociferated Sir Walter, " and, 
 by my sword and buckler, a fellow of shrewd wit and 
 apt invention ; he is the bravest and the most courage- 
 ous of the fellows who journeyed with me hither, and 
 I have tried his fidelity on several occasions, and ne- 
 ver found he played me falsely. He is a wight of 
 some genius, too, although but obscurely born, with 
 nought but his knapsack on his back, to help him on 
 his road to fortune's favours ; and, truly, I wot, the 
 saucy jade hath not been very bountiful towards him ; 
 it is folly's children that she delights to smile on — it is 
 men who have no souls, and women who have no 
 hearts, that she visits ; we know it well, but what oi 
 that ? when genius lets fall one feather of her wing, as 
 she mounts the starry skies, the favoured happy mor- 
 tal on whose head it lights, though it be a child of po- 
 verty, which oft it is, is rendered immortal by the 
 gift, and is far better recompensed, than even by the 
 sunny smiles of fickle fortune ; for fortune oft deserts 
 its votaries, but genius never ! It ebbs and flows, in- 
 deed ; but, if to energy aroused, the heavenly flame 
 
OR, M4RIBTTB MOULINB. 11$ 
 
 rekindles with a brighter glow, and with a purer light ; 
 it warms— it fires — it animates, to deeds that bloated 
 affluence never felt, or splendid pomp and pleasure 
 never knew I A kingdom of its own, it smiles on kings 
 and queens, and envies not their greatness, their 
 courtly favours and their crowns 5 which, being stripped 
 off, make them mere earthly things ! But what shall 
 debase or lower genius, when to worth and virtue it 
 is allied ? it hath a crown unfading, and a kingdom 
 of which monarchs might be proud to boast 5 but, by 
 my sword and buckler, monarchs seldom wear it.— 
 Well, as I was saying, — that this same Francisco^ 
 whom thou wert speaking of, is a man of genius, cal 
 him what else you please ; an humble vassal in the ser- 
 vice of St, Julian, — but the fellow bears an upright 
 heart about him, and fortune may mock him, but she 
 does not despise him ! or, if she did, he hath the wit to 
 laugh at it, and to bear her scora in contemptuous si- 
 lence. So he grows fat upon the very frowns that she 
 doth breed, and looks saucy, and sings merrily 5 and 
 in long winter nights he hath a store of witty sayings, 
 that do make the soldiers laugh mightily, — and for that 
 is Francisco much followed in the camp of St. Julian. 
 A mirthful wight ! that doth inspire good humour and 
 harmony on all around him. What sayest thou of him,, 
 boy, and how camest thou in discourse with him ?" 
 To^which the youthful page replied, — 
 *' Sir, his merry looks and cheerful pipe won my 
 attention ! As I passed the guard-room he was sit- 
 ting in the midst of the soldiery, ehaunting a ditty of 
 his native country, which, ever and anon, pleased them 
 so well, that they gave him sherbet, while some handed 
 him segars, — and then he sung again ! and, as I pass- 
 
116 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 ed, I stopped and listened ! The air he sung with isa 
 much spirit, had, methought, a curibus and invit- 
 ing melody; and the words were as curiously whim- 
 sical and pleasant ; seemingly designed on purpose, as 
 I thought, to attract my attention towards him ; and so 
 it did, for the words ran thus, although the air was 
 Spanish : — 
 
 *< Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day,' 
 
 When the lowlands shall meet thee in battle array : 
 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight. 
 
 And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. 
 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown r 
 
 Woe I woe ! to the riders that trample them down ! 
 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain ; 
 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
 
 But hark I through the fast flashing lightning of war. 
 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
 
 'Tis thine, oh, Glenallin ! whose bride shall await. 
 
 Like a love lighted watch-fire,* all night at the gate, 
 
 A steed comes at morning : no rider is there. 
 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
 
 Weep Albin ! to death and captivity led I 
 
 Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead. 
 
 for a merciless sword shall on Culloden wave, — 
 
 Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave I 
 
 Lochiel ! Lochiel '. beware of the day ! 
 
 For dark and despairing, my sight I may seal ; 
 
 Rut man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
 
 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore ; 
 
 And coming events cast their shadows before." 
 
 No sooner had the soldier finished his warlike ditty, 
 than he received the applauses of his delighted and 
 
 • The Fire Fly, a beautiful insect, so called, from the brilliant light 
 of its eyes, in this country. 
 
OR,_MARIBTTE MOULINB. 117 
 
 gratified auditors, with.^reiterated shouts; and the 
 cheerful and enlivening glass again went round with 
 mirthful glee, and increased jocular pleasantry. At 
 length I was observed by one of your vassals, who, in 
 a whisper, exclaimed to his merry companion, — 
 
 *^ You must take your pipes a note or two lower, 
 Frank, or, by holy Paul, you may chance to rue the 
 day you gave a merry stave in the castle of St. Clair; 
 for behold, yon fair looking young gentleman is the 
 page of the Lady Margaret Albino, and his coming 
 here bodes us no good, Frank: I have watched hirn 
 looking at that ugly mug of yours, this half hour !" 
 
 To which, Francisco, with a hearty laugh, replied, — 
 
 '^ Looking at thy fool's head 1 the more like, you 
 silly goose, you ! wherefore should the young gentle- 
 jnan bear an ill mind to us poor fellows, already here 
 h bondage, and on duty to their master, and who 
 beareth no evil towards him ? what, in the name of all 
 the saints, art thou afraid of, thou chicken-hearted 
 loon ? 1 will be sworn, he will do us no harm, though 
 we sing loud enough to crack our sides, and move the 
 vaulted heavens : by the faith of a soldier, there is that 
 on bis youthful brows, that I would trust my life 
 with." , 
 
 ''And thou sayest truly!" uttered I, advancing 
 towards him ; " honest soldier, fear no harm from me, 
 for neither thy life nor thy honour would be endan- 
 gered by my means : besides, thou art the vassal of 
 the gallant Sir Walter de Ruthen, whom I bear both 
 love and loyalty to ; and, thorefore, thou art doubly 
 safe, while I have the power to keep thee so. In short, 
 sir, I have had frequent conversations with this Fran- 
 
118 THE MYSTBRIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 Cisco, since, -and and what think you has 
 
 been the result ?" 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, J cannot tell thee/' 
 cried Sir Walter, laughing : " hast thou commissioned 
 him to storm the castle, or hang the pious cardinal upon 
 a high tree, so that his holy reverence may be exalted to 
 a higher eminence than he has ever yet attained ? — or 
 what hast thou charged him with ? for, by my sword 
 and buckler, that which thou hast charged him with, 
 he will do with all good truth and honesty ; and, by my 
 faith, he will not leave it, till once it is accomplished." 
 
 *^ Why then, sir, I will tell you," cried the youthful 
 page, " what he will do to serve me. We are to change 
 habits and conditions : — he, the page of the Lady 
 Margaret, shall, in my habiliments, at the darksome 
 hour, appear; before which she will not need my attend- 
 ance on her person, believii g me to be engaged in the 
 preparations for your departure from the battlements 
 of St. Clair. Meanwhile, habited in the garb of Fran- 
 cisco, I seize the lucky moment for my escape, and for 
 ever quit these hated towers. There will be no suspi- 
 cion entertained till many hours after I have taken my 
 flight ; and Francisco tells me, that he will brave the 
 rest, and fearlessly encounter what he does not fear — 
 the rage, the vengeance, of the Lady Margaret. What 
 thinkest thou now. Sir Walter, of my plans ? is Fran- 
 cisco to be trusted, thinkest thou, with an enterprize 
 so daring ?'* 
 
 *^ Verily, thou shouldst have prferred that interro- 
 gatory before thou hadst trusted him," uttered Sir 
 Walter, after a thoughtful pause : '^ to confide thy 
 whole history to a man of whom you knew so little. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 119 
 
 and then ask me if he were trust-worthy, would seem, 
 youiig man, a mystery, did I not know the present 
 motives of your conduct, and that, both execution 
 and design, follow your purposes ; — I will, therefore, 
 put you out of all fear, on the score of Francisco's 
 steady adherence to his word and honour ; and that 
 if he has promised to do all this, that he will do it at 
 the peril of his safety beneath these gloomy battlements ; 
 and I think the plan admirable if it will succeed, — but 
 that's a doubtful point, if it is not immediate : first 
 tell me, if thou hast bribed him to achieve this mighty 
 purpose ; for bribery is a cursed cheat, let me tell ye, 
 and will play the part of the foulest hypocrite, with 
 some kind of men, who seemingly wear the form of 
 the fairest virtue. — Hast thou bribed Francisco to risk 
 this danger for thee? — if so, it is the moneys that he 
 will save, and not thee." 
 
 " Sir, I thought that you had known the man better," 
 cried Sir Orville, with spirited warmth, ^^ for still you 
 wrong him. It is true that I laid before him precious 
 gold, arid shining rubies, to tempt him to my purpose, 
 but lie 1 ejected both — yes ! by my soul and honor ! the 
 Bohemian soldier would not touch them, saying thus— 
 
 " Sir, though I am poor, I have never yet sold my 
 word or honour for baubles such as these. The re- 
 ward I seek is in the high heavens : and, if I have 
 done rightly, I am better rewarded, where neithei 
 gold, nor shining jewels are the recompence for my 
 favours. Speed thee to Sir Walter, and tell him, that 
 Francisco means to serve thee, and I hope he knows 
 me better than to think that bribery e'er has tempted 
 me to do a kindly or a friendly act, to serve a fellow- 
 man. Perchance we meet again, you will remember 
 
120 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 me, and give a soldier welcome, should my knapsack, 
 fail me on a weary march ; and, if thou shouldst for- 
 get me, which by my soul I do not think thou wilt, I 
 will only say. Never mind it, Frank ! because thou 
 hast found ingratitude, for thy goodly deeds, from man 
 — it is not strange, for, with him it is more common 
 than with the beasts of the field, the birds of the aii, 
 or the finny tribe that swim in the ocean :^for, they 
 are natural to each other; but man, it would seem, 
 though born in the same likeness, and after God's own 
 image, is the only living creature that is discontented 
 with his bounteous gifts, or sheweth unkindness to its 
 fellow-creature. But to the point," continued Fran- 
 cisco, '^ T'Jl serve thee without bribery, or I will not 
 serve thee .'at all.'* 
 
 "Then that soldier is a man !" exclaimed Sir Wal- 
 ter, energetically ; "and thou mayest freely trust the 
 perils of this adverse hour, and thy adventurous for- 
 tune, safely to the honour of his keeping ; but, mark 
 me, boy, and see that thou trust not to the semblance 
 
 — * All are not men, who bear the human form !' 
 
 Speed thee, then— get the stores in readiness, — put on 
 the habit of Francisco, and soon, beyond these gloomy 
 battlements. Til lead thee to the mighty conqueror, 
 high in arms, as he is unrivalled in victorious actions. 
 Yes, my brave boy ! soon shalt thou know tvhat thy 
 young heart so pants to feel and to practise — the ex- 
 perience of a soldier's fortune, and a soldier's fame . 
 
*01lj MARIEtTE MOULINE. 
 
 1^1 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 '** Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutored mind 
 Sees God in clouds, or heare him in the wind ; 
 His soul, proud science never taught to stray^ 
 Far as the solar walk, or milky way ; 
 Yet simple nature to his hope has given. 
 Behind the cloud- topt hill, an humbler Heaven. 
 Some safer world, in depths of woods embraced ; 
 Some happier island in the wat'ry waste ; 
 Where slaves once more their native land behold ; 
 No fiends torment,— no chiistians thirst for gold." 
 
 Pope. ^ 
 
 THE depaTting rays of the setting sun, glorious 
 to behold as at flie rise of morning, had already tipt 
 with gold the gothic towers of St. Clair ; while a 
 clear [cloudless sky, of soft celestial blue, was streaked 
 with tints of roseate red. Calm and unruffled was 
 the white bosomed ocean, which seemed to invite the 
 majestic god of day to linger there. 
 
 The very air had a charmed stillness in it ; and gen- 
 tile was the lullaby of the whispering winds that fanned 
 the breeze, and hushed to silence and to peace the 
 tace of nature, and bid it taste of bliss ; while heaven, 
 so indulgent, smiled upon the earth it made. There 
 was but a lone bird in the woods, and that was the eve 
 6 Q 
 
122 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 warbling nightingale ; and she complained, for she had 
 lost her brood of little nestlings, and her tender 
 mate, that man — remorseless and rapacious man — 
 had, in the early morning of that day, laid cruel siege 
 to, and destroyed: to gratify what? — his love of 
 power o'er a harmless race ! as the blood-hound fol- 
 lows the scent of the timid hare, and little recks he 
 the desolation he has made. But, to proceed, — such 
 was the evening destined to behold the departure of 
 the brave and gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen, from 
 the proud battlements of the Lady Margaret Albino ; 
 and speedy was the transformation of the youthful 
 page ; in the habit of Francisco, he soon appeared to 
 Sir Walter, — so well disguised indeed, his fair propor- 
 tionate figure, and so stained his blooming cheek, with 
 the colour that Francisco had prepared for him, that 
 he might have passed well for the Bohemian soldier 
 in the grey shades of evening, while only to silence he 
 kept himself confined, and to which he was strictly en- 
 joined by Sir Walter ; who, surveying him with evi- 
 dent looks of satisfaction, exclaimed, — 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, thoulookest well, and 
 a better man than thou wert before, with all thy 
 peacock finery ; and that sword doth well become 
 thee, boy. Tush ! tush I why tremblest thou ? who 
 would be a serving man, when they can be a soldier ? 
 and gain a name in arms, and mount the fiery steed, 
 and hear the cannons rattle, and hear the shouts of 
 victory resounding from tent to tent !— Oh ! it hath 
 an animating sound, my boy ! it warms the coldest 
 heart to rapture, to glory, to actions of the brave, and 
 makes men feel gods ! Then why tremblest thou, now 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 123 
 
 that thou hast accomplished even the very purpose of 
 thy inmost soul ?" 
 
 " Sir, I do not tremble for that which thou hast 
 painted to me in such glaring colours,*' uttered the 
 youthful page, with a long suppressed and struggled 
 sigh ; " it is not the dangers that 1 may e*er encoun- 
 ter in battle, that prompts this struggled sigh,^nor is 
 it the glory of conquest that now fills my anxious 
 breast with rapture ! No, by yon shining firmament 
 of heaven, that now so brightly glows, as it would 
 seem, that the sweet angels had met in consultation, 
 to decide on mortal's fate ; nor yet the air so still 
 and heavenly, nor yet the balmy fragrance of 
 those flowers, nor the moon's heaven giving light, 
 that so absorbs my mind in strange disordered 
 thoughts — that makes me tremble at the very breeze 
 that stirs the foliage of those dark pines that wave 
 above us ; — but it is the thought of the Bohemian 
 maid, that so disquiets me, ere I depart for ever from 
 these battlements. Look, sir, yonder is the casement? 
 overshadowed with moss and ivy, that conceals the 
 lovely maid from our observation : perhaps she sits 
 reclined against that casement, and sees us depart, 
 without one kind farewell, one kind look. Alas ! sir, 
 the thought that the Bohemian maid would accuse 
 me of cruelty, is more than I could bear : cannot I 
 bid her farewell, without danger, think you ? if so, I 
 would hazard much for Augustina, ere I lost sight of 
 her sweet form for ever." 
 
 " Thou wouldst hazard a fool's head !" cried Sir 
 Walter. " What, hast thou not risked enough for the 
 sake of this proud scornful beauty, but you must needs 
 thrust your nose into greater dangers for ber coy 
 
124 THE MYSXEftlES OF ST. CLAIR ^ 
 
 ladyship ? beshrew me, I would sooner journey me t& 
 JLoretto's shrine, than travel with a man so warm i» 
 love as thou art. Wherefore shouldst thou see her, I 
 pray thee, or bid her farewell, more than thou hast 
 done already ? if to St. Julian, whom she has confess- 
 ed that she loveth more than mortal race, she cau 
 so coldly turn, — thinkest thou, she will bestow a 
 word on thee ? Come, boy, let us begone from 
 these hateful towers, which^ by the faith of a soldier, 
 I ne'er desire to see more, till I behold them a pile of 
 mouldering ruins, with the cardinal's head swinging: 
 at the top of them." 
 
 ** May that day be far distant, I beseech you, sir,'* 
 uttered the youthful page, " were it only for the sake 
 of the lovely Bohemian lady." 
 
 " Who will be taken care of, long before that hour 
 arrives," responded Sir Walter, significantly. 
 
 " The necessaries are all bestowed ; the attendants 
 and the equipage are aU in readiness for instant de- 
 parture, and wait for us at the entrance of the great 
 postern-gates," uttered Sir Orvillc Faulkner ; *^ and 
 I have an order to pass you and the cavalcade over 
 the ramparts, signed by the cardinal. The waggons 
 are loaded with ammunition, and the provisions are of 
 the most excellent quality ; the horses strong, and 
 fleet as Arabian coursers ; and the men, who are to 
 conduct you some leagues on your journey, finely com- 
 parisoned." 
 
 " There is more pride than liberality displayed in 
 that," cried Sir Walter ;. " I know the haughty and 
 ambitious mind of great Albino's wife would disdain 
 an appearance of poverty in the eye of St. Julian, 
 were she really poor, — but, by ray faith, she ha& 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOIILINE. 125 
 
 wealth if^bounded, and cannot count her riches ; but 
 * the love of money is the root of all evil :' never phi* 
 losopher, statesman, or politician, uttered a wiser or 
 profounder saying. 1 have, boy, since my earliest con- 
 templation, studied the origin of the moral and politi- 
 cal evils of what they call civilized society, and I have 
 at length succeeded ; I have tried to trace them to their 
 source, — I have discovered that they all flow from 
 the desire of acquisition — from the love of wealth— 
 and, if I may so term it, (and, by my faith, I do not 
 think I term it wrong) from the love of lucre. And 
 to this I have traced all our feudal wars — all our 
 quarrels and litigations ; to this I have traced all our 
 vices and all our crimes ; to this also have I traced all 
 our fraud,'imposition, duplicity, lying, perjury, distrust, 
 jealousy, hard-heartedness, hatred, and rancour. It 
 is the love of money, and the love of gain, that makes 
 all the catalogue of human crimes complete : and it is 
 this disposition that has rendered the Lady Margaret 
 Albino what you now behold her — ready to sacrifice 
 her only child, and that a young and lovely female, to 
 this curst and insatiate love of avarice and ambition. 
 Yes, she deposits in the convent of Mariette Mouline 
 certain sums of money, which will be doubly repaid, 
 with interest, when this beauteous victim shall become 
 a member of their unholy rites — for tell me not of love- 
 liness or virtue, when nature and virtue are perverted 
 by a direct opposition to its sweet, sacred, and wise 
 intentions. Man was not born or created to live alone, 
 or why had all-kind and bounteous Heaven given Eve 
 to his arms ? and if man was not born to live alone, why 
 should woman ? The poor Indian finds happiness be- 
 cause he finds content : the poor untutored Indian, 
 
who ' sees his God in the clouds, and hears him in the 
 wind,* — he is called savage ; but, believe me, he is hap- 
 pier far than us — than in a state of polished civilization, 
 — because he is in a state of nature. But in refine- 
 ment — in the mercenary busy world, where all is traffic, 
 and the love of gain, not one of us, in court or cottage, 
 finds happiness, because no one finds content ; though, 
 certainly, of the little that exists among us, the much 
 greater share, both moralist and philosopher, and 
 poet, and novelist, agree, is found in the cottage ; for 
 they, with all their poverty and rustic toil — with all 
 their hardships and their misery — with all their igno- 
 rance of the polish and tlie brilliancy of life, are hap- 
 pier than riches and acquisition, with all their conve- 
 nience, and all their advancement in splendour and 
 the accomplished art of living in a great world ; when, 
 at the best, they know so little, — die, — and are forgot- 
 ten ; their only epitaph, 
 
 " A heap of dust alone remains of thee ; 
 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be." 
 
 Boy, thou must know this ere thou thyself die, or 
 thou wilt know nothing." 
 
 To which, the youthful page replied,—- 
 
 " Sir, short has been my life, but long has been my 
 experience in the towers of St. Clair ; and I should 
 have made but little use of that experience, had I not 
 turned it to my advantage.*' 
 
 *« And what has that experience taught you, my 
 brave boy," cried Sir Walter, surveying the warm 
 animated glow which now crimsoned the countenance 
 of his youthful companion. 
 
 " It has taught me this," modestly replied Sir Or- 
 ville Faulkner, " ^(and oh, may it never teach me 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 127 
 
 worse) " that to the misplacing of our passions, we 
 owe most of our errors ; ambitious of eminence where 
 we are most restrained, we are more jealous of our 
 intellectual than our moral merit ; we are content to 
 bo thought cruel, provided we are thought wise and 
 sagacious ; and, to support the fancied stateliness of 
 worldly wisdom, often descend below the rank of the 
 common hangman ; we catch at a revenge, or ordinary 
 offence offered by our fellow-men, not palliated by the 
 plea of provocation, and thus we show the spirit of 
 revenge, at which a man should blush, and a chris- 
 tian tremble.'* 
 
 " And, by my faith, boy, if thou hast learnt thus, 
 thy experience cannot teach thee better," uttered 
 Sir Walter ; " for real preeminence, whatever our 
 condition, is ever bestowed by the hand of generous 
 forbearance ; and the most thrilling flattery, is the 
 voice of misery relieved, — to see the tear of gratitude 
 swelling in the eye, and the features throbbing with 
 the emotions of a grateful heart, — to see happiness, 
 like a new creation, brightening up at our touch, and 
 feeling ourselves rising in the estimation of the supreme 
 Being. These create a pride, which humanity may 
 avow, and a superiority which will survive the fleeting 
 phantoms of distinction, to time's eternal register: 
 and be this thine in the battle's heat ; it will spur 
 thee on to conquest in the hour of peril,— it will give 
 thee courage against the relentless foe, — in the hour of 
 death it will disarm it of its approaching terrors, and 
 the angel who is sent on his awful mission, will, in 
 pity, drop one gentle tear, softly close thy eyelids, and 
 waft thee to regions of eternal bliss lor evermore. Re- 
 flect, dear boy, when all aid is vain to frail and suffer- 
 
128 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 infr mortals,— when joy i« fled, and the soul begins td 
 disentangle itself, and to feel the presages of the ap- 
 proaching future, from a consciousness of the past, — 
 when the stage of life becomes darkened, and the great 
 much talked of scene begins to realize, and open on 
 the view, — the debts wfe have remitted, the wrongs \^e 
 have forgiven, and the miseries we have relieved, will 
 play, with cherub faces, round the fancy, and turn to 
 rapture the pangs of dissolution. Now let us depart, 
 in peace and quietness, from these battlements ; and 
 peace be unto all that dwell within them, save the 
 mighty cardinal, and he ne'er wishes peace to any. 
 There is a kind of hostile war between bis reverence 
 with all mankind who do not flatter, fawn, and cringe, 
 and play the smiling hypocrite ; but that my soul dis- 
 dains to do, were it to serve a monarch on his throne, 
 much less he, who is none, and nothing was, and 
 nothing is, save his pride and craftiness, and his as- 
 sumption to the favour of Albino's lady. Come, boy, 
 give me thy arm, nor cast thine eye on yon bowers, 
 where last you beheld the Bohemian maid ; love 2tiid 
 beauty are dangerous opponents to a soldier's eoi*- 
 rjige? — ^his only motto should be ' Battle, death, or vic- 
 tory ;' and the shield that covers the heart of the brave, 
 nobly resolved to conquer or to die, is ' God and our 
 native land/ " 
 
 WithtJtiese concluding words, the gallant warrior, 
 having buckled on his armour, and placed his helmet 
 on his head, sallied forth with the so ingeniously dis- 
 guised page, tliat, in the habit of Francisco, he passed 
 the guards and soldiery, till they reached th« postern- 
 gate, without suspicion, and so on till they arrived at 
 the draw- bridge, where the cavalcade and the attend- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 129 
 
 ants of Sir Walter De Ruthen waited his approach ; 
 and soon they mounted their chargers, in silence, — ^Sir 
 Walter, only waving his hand to the surrounding sol- 
 diery as he set spurs to the steed on which he was 
 mounted; and a more gallant and warlike appearance 
 never soldier exhibited. At length the command was 
 given for the cavalcade to advance ; the horses were 
 put in motion, and the martial flag, bearing the arms 
 and colours of the great St. Julian, hoisted in front 
 of the waggons. 
 
 " On, my good fellows!" vociferated Sir Walter; 
 and whispering to Sir Orville to set spurs to his horse, 
 and keep close to his side, the whole procession moved 
 rapidly away, leaving far behind them the grey mo- 
 nastic towers of St. Clair, that the setting sun no 
 longer gilded with its golden rays ; and sober twilight 
 evening was coming fast on — two or three bright stars 
 had already appeared, and shone in the hemisphere, as 
 if to light the warrior on his way. Over a wild heath 
 they jogged apace, and passed a few straggling huts, 
 chiefly inhabited by shepherds ; but they were lone and 
 dark, not alight was visible, and no chimnies smoked^ 
 to give warning that a cheerful blaze was kindling 
 within them. Naught could be heard by the advanc- 
 ing travellers on this wild, rude, desolate heath, but 
 the distant howl of the shepherd's curs, intermixt, at 
 moments, with the screaming of the raven ; still the 
 air was fresh and sweet, and, as the horses' hoofs 
 dashed into the opening flowers, wet with the dropping 
 dews of the evening, theysnorted, and snuffed the balmy 
 fragrance which was exhaled from them. For leagues 
 they journeyed without encountering any living ob- 
 jects, save a few harmless asses and their young foals, 
 6 R 
 
130 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 who had been left by their equally harmless and innof- 
 fensive masters, to browse on what the wild heath 
 afforded, and were sleeping beside them : and till then 
 not a syllable had been exchanged between Sir Walter 
 and his youthful companion, fearful that the slightest 
 whisper would betray the voice of the page to the vas- 
 sals and horsemen of the Lady Margaret Albino, and 
 discover, through his rough disguise and grim visage, 
 the pretty page; for Francisco had given him a pair 
 of tremendous mustachios, the more to conceal his 
 blooming and soft gentle features ; and, in all but his 
 voice, he resembled the Bohemian soldier. But the 
 cavalcade were now some way before, and, in a low 
 voice, Sir Walter exclaimed, — " Well, boy, how farest 
 thou, now thou art some miles distant from the towers 
 of St. Clair, and journeying on to the camp of St. Ju- 
 lian ? By my sword and buckler, we have had a smart- 
 ish bit of a breather over yon wild heath that skirts the 
 borders of the Black Forest, through which we must, 
 perforce, journey, ere we can stop our steeds ; but after 
 that, we will halt awhile, and let the fellows take re- 
 freshment. There is a tolerable good house of en- 
 tertainment on the road side about a league or two 
 distant, who are accustomed to deal with the soldiery ; 
 they will treat us kindly for our monies' sake, if not for 
 that of hospitality. Besides, they stand in fear of us 
 in these turbulent and rude times ; the wars have 
 tamed these burgomasters, and put them a little on 
 their mettld, which else had made them bull-dogs ; and 
 I will be sworn, and wager a thousand sequins, when 
 the cavalcade stops at the gates, they will step forward, 
 cap in hand, to meet us, afraid of having their throats 
 cut, and the women maltreated by us butchers, for so 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 131 
 
 they call us, who, witli a murrain to them, baire more 
 humanity in our horses that bear us on their backs, 
 than these churlish mercenary wretches have in their 
 whole souls. Thou art pensive, boy — perhaps, art 
 weary : thou art but little used to marches and coun- 
 ter-marches : but, courage ! set fresh spurs to thy 
 courser, (which, by my faith, is no sorry beast) ; cou- 
 rage, I say, and, ere long, thou shalt rest and refresh 
 thee with the best fare that shining gold can purchase 
 in the house of old Bibbo, at the sign of the queen and 
 three crosses.** 
 
 Sir Orville had rode close to the side of Sir Walter, 
 now his gallant friend and protector, almost the whole 
 of the way as they journeyed over the heath, and taking 
 advantage of a moment's respite, to hear the sound of 
 his own voice, he softly exclaimed to his cheering ex> 
 hortations, — 
 
 r* " Sir, I am neither weary, and in no way pensive, 
 but rejoice that I have thus^far escaped detection ; but, 
 were I to tell you that I was perfectly content, when I 
 reflect on the fate of the lovely daughter of Albino, 
 while immured in those solitary walls, and under the 
 controul of the cardinal and her stern mother — I 
 were to tell thee falsely ; my heart doth swell to fear- 
 ful beatings, as though it would burst its confines, 
 when I think of the beauteous fair one." 
 
 " The more fool thou," uttered Sir Walter, " to 
 bestow thy cares on one, who little thanks thee for thy 
 pains, did she but know thy thoughts ; but knowing 
 them not, thou art a silly goose, to think about her 
 who never thinks of thee. Boy, thou wilt raise my 
 choler, if thou sayest much more about this Bohemian 
 beauty ; and much greater wilt thou offend the mighty 
 
IS^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 master whom thou art going to serve, shouldst thou 
 aught reveal of the passion with which thy young heart 
 so labours. Besides, is it not folly and madness, even 
 to the extremest point, to sigh for a dainty queen, that 
 careth not what mortal suffers in bondage for her sake ? 
 hath not St. Julian sighed for her in vain ? and hath 
 she not been deaf to his most earnest supplications, his 
 tears, his prayers, his entreaties. Prithee boy, waste 
 not thy thoughts on woman, unlfess thou art desirous to 
 be bitten by a mad dog, or a centipede, or fixt by a rat- 
 tle-snake ; for women are like unto all these venomous 
 animals. I would as soon encounter a laughing hyaena, 
 as the love of one of these syrens. But let us onward, 
 the shades of night are fast drawing in upon us, and I 
 should not much like to be girted in by these robbers 
 that infest the forest ; they are a set of daring despe- 
 radoes, that would not mind attacking us and hanging 
 us on the top of every high tree, if they thought they 
 could overpower us in number : but fear you nothing, 
 I have a stout sword, and a stouter heart that is not 
 wont to be dismayed at perils such as these." 
 
 But at this moment, there were far greater perils in 
 view, than what the intrepid warrior had proclaimed, — 
 and those he little thought of, or dreaded ; for one of 
 the guards that attended the cavalcade, and was fore- 
 most in the party, suddenly stopped his horses, from a 
 vapour arising from the forest, on which they were 
 already on the verge ; which, resembling the smoke of 
 cannon, had nearly suffocated the horses from its 
 sudden and unexpected discharge I 
 
 " Halt, soldiery !" cried Sir Walter, with some 
 symptoms of anxiety depicted on his countenance : 
 *• advance not a step nigher to this forest, ere we in- 
 
^ OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 133 
 
 vestigate the cause of this sudden effusion of smoke 
 and sulphur from the borders of this black and impe- 
 netrable forest ; it looketh not well, this explosion at 
 this darksome hour. It may be that renegades, from 
 the camp of St. Julian, are lurking in ambush, to sur- 
 prise and rob us of the supplies and the ammunition 
 that we are carrying hither with all convenient speed, 
 for the relief of the expiring and famished troops, who 
 lie languishing, sick, and weary, in their tents in the 
 camp of the great St. Julian : unknown wealth has it 
 cost the mighty conqueror — from his private coffers 
 has he drawn it — for the relief of his brave soldiery 
 who have bled in his service ; and by order of the Lady 
 Margaret Albino, are you not sent to guard and to con- 
 vey such supplies as he has purchased from the gar- 
 rison of St. Clair, as far as the Austrian boundaries. 
 Soldiers, do your duty I be vigilant o'er your charge, 
 as becometh men who wish well to one another ; whe- 
 ther we be friends or foes, in one cause we are now 
 united ; if we are attacked in this forest — if we are 
 disarmed, we shall, perforce, be robbed and plundered, 
 and taken prisoners, and the brave soldiers will perish. 
 Feel, then,Jfor your fellow-men : let them not die a death 
 so inglorious, but let one animating sentiment of com- 
 passion fill your manly bosoms, and arouze you to ac- 
 tions in the great cause which all men feel, if they are 
 men at all—the cause of humanity : shoulder your arms, 
 get them in readiness, and be prepared to fire on the 
 instant on the dastardly cowards, who would molest 
 or plunder us of our rich laden stores. If they are rob- 
 bers they will retreat at the sight of our soldiery ; but 
 if, as I much fear, they are the enemies of St. Julian, 
 bribed by treachery, to defeat the noble purposes of 
 
134 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 humanity, let us boldly contend with them, and dis- 
 pute our rights, if we cannot protect them ; let us not 
 die like dogs, nor fight like butchers : some of you 
 reconnoitre, and see what they are who have so dis- 
 charged fire-arms in the forest, we cannot say on us, 
 because, as yet, they cannot have perceived our ad- 
 vance. What say you, brave fellows, shall we ad- 
 vance or retreat ?'' 
 
 " Most gallant sir, I would advise you to do nei- 
 ther," cried the oldest and most experienced of the 
 horsemen ; " your honor knows best, but, by holy Paul, 
 there is not one of them that would have the heart to 
 face us, when they see how well we are mounted, for 
 the sport they are so marvelously fond of ; the devil 
 a tiger's skin of them that I would not make mince- 
 meat of, if they were to shew any of their black look- 
 ing mugs near our cavalcade. They are renegades 
 no doubt, who are on the watch for prey, and expect- 
 ing a large booty from some travellers crossing the fo- 
 rest, — ^have fired off a few of their lame shot for a flash 
 in the pan, thinking to frighten us, but that wont 
 do for Steevy Macgreggor ! I am an Englishman, 
 every bit of blood of me, and that I will let them 
 know.'* 
 
 There was something in the manner and look of 
 this intrepid soldier, when he uttered this to Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, that tended greatly to his advantage ; for 
 he believed that he was not imposing on his credulity 
 when he boasted of his valour ; for Steevy Macgreggor 
 had certainly the appearance of a man not easily to 
 be put into bodily fear, being of a stature far above 
 the ordinary height of men ; his limbs, formed of equal 
 proportion of strength, and broad and sinewy^ seemed 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 135 
 
 calculated to wage war with giants, more than with 
 men ; his countenance was marked by one expression 
 only, and that was undaunted courage with something 
 of ferocity when he spoke of vengeance being inflicted 
 on his foes. And Sir Walter was more pleased than 
 angry with the freedom of his speech ; he was just the 
 sort of man that he felt well convinced would do his 
 duty, without consulting any man's humour but his 
 own ; he addressed Mr. Steevy Macgreggor, therefore 
 in the following terms, which made the intrepid soldier 
 not a little proud of having gained the approbation 
 and the favour of one of the bravest and most gallant 
 officers in the Bohemian service. 
 
 " Soldier, I am well pleased with the sentiments thou 
 hast expressed ; for, although plain and blunt, I do 
 believe that they are honest : and honesty is a gem 
 with men now-a-days ; one out of five hundred playing 
 the hypocrite, the knave, and the common robber of 
 another's rights and privileges, which were better to 
 be pardoned, did they not assume virtue under the 
 mask of religion and holy piety. I would sooner meet 
 the bold-faced villain than any pretenders, (for they 
 are nothing more) to such as these. I will, therefore, 
 trust thee, Steevy Macgreggor, although thou art in 
 the service of the Lady Margaret Albino, and, what is 
 far worse, in the service, (as I presume thou art) also, 
 of the Cardinal Benvolio. Be that as it may, it doth 
 not interfere with thy courage and thy intrepidity as a 
 soldier, nor, 1 should hope, with your humanity as a 
 fellow-man ; for all men are, our fellows, and should 
 be our brothers, too, were it not that man is grown 
 so wise in his own conceit, that he thinks all things 
 are under his controul, both heavenly and earthly ones. 
 
136 
 
 the poor worm of a day and the reptile of an hour. 
 Now then, let us on to the Black Porest, to meet these 
 renegades, — or, what say you, honest Steevy, shall 
 we sojourn awhile, and make the best of our way 
 to the house of Bibbo ? — thou knowest Bibbo, who 
 keeps the sign of the queen and the three crosses, 
 dost not thou ? For myself, I care not what aught may 
 befal me on the point of personal danger ; but for 
 these stores — I would guard their safety while I have 
 life and breath, se ing that they are for the relief of 
 the brave fellows, who are suffering in St. Julian's 
 camp. Mark you, soldier, I do not fear danger, — that 
 thou knowest — 'but it would be unwise, in the present 
 condition of our affairs, to run headlong into it, if by 
 any expedient we could otherwise avoid it." 
 
 "And so I think, with all due submission and re- 
 verence to your honour's opinion," uttered the soldier ; 
 " we had better, by half, seek a quieter way of set- 
 tling the business, and strike into the bye-roads, with 
 which these robbers are not yet acquainted ; and there 
 is not a nook nor a valley, a wood or a bush, but is as 
 familiar to Steevy Macgreggor as his mother's milk,^ — 
 though, saving your honour's presence, I have not 
 tasted of that for many a long year : nevertheless, I re- 
 member it, and the mother who gave it to me : ill fares 
 that son who is e'er forgetful of a mother's kindness, 
 or a mother's care. I know the sign of the queen and 
 the three crosses, too, and so please you, we will quick- 
 ly journey thence ; and I know the man who keeps 
 the sign, too, — an arranter knave doth m)t exist under 
 the face of the sun, when he thinketh he can honestly 
 play the cheat, and ne'er be suspected ; but he is mar- 
 vellously affraid of the buckler and the helmet, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 137 
 
 Wftuld as soon encounter a legion of devils as a band 
 of soldiers : he standeth in awe of us, and therefore 
 will be peaceful and civil when we ask for quarters. 
 If not, so please your honour, we carry that about us, 
 that will make him so, whether the sorry knave likes 
 «s or not. I have known Bibbo this many a long day, 
 4ind never found him wanting to know which side his 
 bread was buttered on." 
 
 Sir Walter had no propensity to indulge in laugh- 
 ter at the present crisis of affairs, or he had certainly 
 done it at the expense of Mr. Steevy Macgreggor's 
 wit and jocularity of humour. 
 
 But this was not a moment to be either devoted to 
 mirth or to idleness ; and the order to put fresh spurs 
 to the horses, and move onward with all imaginable 
 speed, towards the habitation of Bibbo, was given, and 
 inunediately obeyed, there being no time for further 
 discourse ; while the night, which was rapidly advanc- 
 ing, made them anxious to seek some place of secu- 
 rity for the cattle and the heavy laden waggons, ere 
 it completely closed in upon them, and prevented the 
 possibility of their seeing by what perils, dangers, or 
 enemies they were surrounded. 
 
 Avoiding the Black Forest, therefore, and wholly 
 -directed by the instructions of Steevy Mucgreggor, 
 whose knowledge of the bye-paths, and roads almost 
 inaccessible, had rendered a very fit guide on such an 
 expedition ; the cavalcade halted at the foot of a stu- 
 pendous steep hill, where was erected on a post, the 
 very conspicuous sign of the queen and the three cros- 
 ses, close to which was the dwelling of Bibbo : it was 
 a sort of antiquated old building, whose desolate and 
 4ecayed appearance, on the first glance of it, seemed 
 
 9 s 
 
m 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 fitter for* a den of banditti, than either affording re- 
 freshment to weary travellers, or invitini^ them to enter 
 its riide walls; for a watch-dog growled most hideously 
 on the approach of the cavalcade, which the trampling 
 had disturbed from his drowsy slumbers. But there 
 were lights within, to denote that the inhabitants of 
 this mansion had not yet retired to their beds, and if 
 they had, it was of little consequence to Steevy Mac- 
 greggor and the formidable party he had brought with 
 him ; for he presently set forth an alarm in the sound 
 of a musket that he fired in the air, which very quickly 
 brought the host and hostess to the door, to demand 
 the pleasure and the business of their no very pleasiug 
 and unexpected visitors. 
 
 " Save you, sirs," uttered the affrighted Bibbo, on 
 perceiving that the whole cavalcade and train of horses 
 had drawn up to his door, and that, whether he liked 
 their intrusion or not on the premises, he must, per- 
 force, give them quarters, if they demanded it. " Save 
 you, sirs,*' again repeated he, "what is your good 
 pleasure at the house of Bibbo ?" 
 
 " That is the pleasure of my master, who will an- 
 swer thee," responded Steevy, in no very gracious or 
 conciliating tone. " What, old shining bottle-nose, art 
 not tired of drinking thy flaggons of brandy, which have 
 so besotted thy old crazy carcase, that thou dost not 
 know an old friend when he stops at thy sign post ? 
 Hast thou forgotten Steevy Macgreggor, who has 
 brought thee some goodly company, for old acquaint- 
 ance sake, to take up their night's lodging ?'* 
 
 " Steevy Macgreggor !" uttered Bibbo., "Santa 
 Maria ! What brings thee so far abroad, honest friend ? 
 What ! hast thou enlisted into the service of St. Julian ? 
 If sdy thou art right welcome to such fare as mine 
 
OR^ MARIETTE MOULINE. W9 
 
 house affords, — which, truly, is not the best, in trouble- 
 some times like these. I would the wars were ended 
 I say ; but come, Steevy, dismount ! dismount, and wet 
 your whistle with a drop of brandy ! then, belike, you 
 will let me know who you have gotten with you. Con- 
 sider, consider, Steevy," in a low voice, added Bibbo, 
 '* the imperative orders of the emperor ! — -and 1 live by 
 the good-will and mighty favour of the emperor, — 
 consider, Steevy, that I have a character to lose V* 
 
 " x^nd, shortly, thou wilt have a head to lose, if thou 
 standest prating much longer there, thou old weather 
 ram !'* fiercely vociferated Steevy. " What care I who 
 thou livest for ? every man must live while he can, and 
 die when his day comes — and, why look you, because 
 he cannot help it. Come, bestir thee, and bustle th« 
 lazy queens thou keepest about thee ; for here is a 
 goodly gentleman, that hath charge of this cavalcade, 
 all journeying to the camp of St. Julian, with supplies 
 for the troops. See that thou bestowest them in safety 
 within thy premises, and thou keepest in secresy what 
 is lodged within thy walls : then make ready a cham- 
 ber for the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen. Now, old 
 blue bottle ! now know ye the rank and quality of your 
 guest ? but, by holy Paul, if thou sayest aught to mortal 
 that he is here — to any of the passing travellers which 
 may call at thy dwelling — thou shalt breakfast on a 
 mess of gunpowder, my old shiner." 
 
 The change in the countenance and manner of old 
 Bibbo on this uncourteous-like address of the blunt, 
 but honest soldier, might very naturally supposed to be 
 instantaneously produced by fear, and personal danger; 
 as, certainly, the civility he presently evinced towards 
 the soldiery had nothing to do with hospitality, much 
 
140 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ^ 
 
 less had it to do with the feelings of humanity ; which 
 induced him to come forward and pay his humble 
 obeisance to Sir Walter De Ruthen, and to give im- 
 mediate oi'ders to his wife, Jacquelina, ta prepare every 
 accommodation that the house could afford for the at- 
 tendants and vassals, and guards, that were conveying 
 the supplies to the camp of St. Julian. For, in the first 
 place, Bihbo well knew that he would be doubly paid 
 for his services ; and, in the next place, he had some 
 taste of the disposition of Steevy Macgreggor, and 
 that doing any violence to his wishes, was like the fee- 
 ble attempt to still the raging of the winds, or bid the 
 stormy ocean cease to flow. In one moment, there- 
 fore, all was bustle and confusian at the queen and the 
 three crosses. 
 
 Dame Jacquelina presently prepared her best bed 
 for the reception of Sir Walter De Ruthea, and every 
 bed in the house and article of warmth and cloathing 
 provided for the attendants, consisting of twenty in 
 number, including the vassals belonging to Sir Walter, 
 one of which Sir Orville Faulkner personated , and 
 was, therefore, treated with no further ceremony than 
 the rest, although his rank was far above them. Nor 
 dared Sir Walter distinguish him, however willingly 
 he was inclined so to do ; such a procedure would in- 
 stantly have discovered him ; and he had only time to 
 whisper in his ear, as they dismounted from the backs 
 of their weary coursers, — 
 
 " Remember what thou art, brave boy, and do net 
 betray thyself ; a word, a look, uttered in hasty and 
 inconsiderate warmth, will discover thy thoughts, al- 
 though thy person be disguised. There is some eye 
 vigilant to search into our most secret actions, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 141 
 
 Steevy Macgreggor alone excepted, I do not think 
 there is one of the fellows who have borne us on this 
 journey but would buy and sell us, if they could get 
 any recompense for their pains. Let us away by dawn 
 of light fronn this house, also, for I like not the appear- 
 ance of the dwelling, nor the manner of the host and 
 hostess ; they are too civil, by half,-— less courtesy 
 would have pleased nae far better. They are also under 
 the protection of the emperor, and, therefore, in their 
 hearts, are the enemies of St. Julian. I shall be on the 
 watchj — so be thou. On the least alarm of treachery 
 or surprize, awaken me, though I should be sleeping ; 
 which I shall not do to-night on a bed of roses, be- 
 lieve me." 
 
 " But have you not confidence in the brave soldier ?*' 
 softly responded Sir Orville, as they were about to 
 separate. To which. Sir Walter replied, in as low a 
 key,— 
 
 ** Yes ; hut he is but one, and, though strong and 
 vigorous, what would it avail among so many. Fare- 
 well, for a few hours I leave thee to the protection of 
 heaven, who never yet deserted its faithful votaries." 
 
 " And such is the confidence that I repose in it, sir," 
 cried Sir Orville, ** that I will never yield me to des- 
 pair, or doubt of its interposing kindness in the hour 
 of peril." 
 
 With these words they parted, as they entered the 
 *iowly roof of old Bibbo ; Steevy Macgreggor having 
 already preceded them in order to prepare the way for 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen. 
 
 The interior part of this mansion was correspondent 
 with the appearance on the outside ; the decorations 
 and furniture of which, the hoary hand of time had laid 
 
142 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 siege to. The tapestry, which once had the honour to 
 / , represent kings and queens, sitting on their thrones, in 
 
 all their regal pomp and glory, now were disrobed of 
 their finery, and patched, here and there, to substitute 
 the torn draperies, with large pieces of blue and brown 
 paper, which, contrasted with other parts of the 
 mutilated furniture, had a somewhat novel eftect on the 
 eye of the beholder. 
 
 Even the sleeping chamber which was prepared for 
 the reception of Sir Walter De Ruthen, and which 
 Jacquelina had boasted was her best bed, was devoid 
 of cleanliness, convenience, or comfort ; and, in conse- 
 quence of not lately having been occupied, sent forth a 
 damp and noxious vapour, which rendered such a 
 place of repose highly dangerous and injurious to the 
 health of the sleeper who stretched his weary limbs in it. 
 
 To make up for all these deficiencies, however, in 
 the house of Bibbo, there was, in truth, a most excel- 
 lent larder ; a great quantity of fish and wild fowl of 
 the most delicious quality, and for which this part of 
 the country was remarkably peculiar ; and to these de- 
 licacies, were added sweet butter, new cheese, honey, 
 and eggs, — and to which the hungry soldiers did am- 
 ple justice before they retired to their roosts, made up 
 of straw and hay, while some of them were furnished 
 with matting from the neighbouring vineyards. 
 
 But these to a soldier were luxuries, which to the 
 pampered sons of idleness and dissipation would have 
 appeared and been deemed the misfortunes of life, 
 while to real misfortune, they are strangers. 
 
 Several flag gons of strong ale were, by order of Sir 
 Walter, given to the guards, to drink his health ; and 
 when the iohle, was spread before them to take their 
 
OR, MARIETTn& MOUHNE. 143 
 
 repast, Bibbo, in order to keep them in good humour, 
 and his house in perfect security, made his appearance 
 with a large flasli of brandy, and some segars, and 
 pouring out a bumper, dran-k to the health of the 
 goodly company, who had that night paid a friendly 
 visit to the queen and the three crosses. 
 
 " Save you, sirs, there is one thing that 1 had for- 
 gotten," uttered Bibbo, " though truly I am reminded 
 of it, every time I cast my eyes on the sign-post. I 
 have sworn, never to taste of the juice of the grapes, 
 nor a glass of the cordial spirit, without drinking the 
 health of the Emperor Josephus." 
 
 *' And success to the great St. Julian !*' vociferated 
 Steevy Macgreggor, " dost thou not hear, my hearty ? 
 thou shalt drink that first, — or you will be reminded 
 of another sign-post, that hangs pretty nigh to your 
 habitation ; it was thy friend Petro, the burgomaster, 
 who was hanged for betraying a Bohemian soldier ! — 
 dost remember, Bibbo ? if not, I will refresh thy me- 
 mory. Come, here's success to St Julian.'* 
 
 The necessity, but not the will of Bibbo, consented 
 to this arrangement, and to a command so imperative ; 
 and the bumper-toast was gulped down in silence, and 
 without any opposition from the aflfrighted landlord. 
 The allusion to his friend the burgomaster, was a 
 lucky hit of Macgreggor's, to keep him in fear of him ; 
 and the high post a memorandum, he was by no means , 
 desirous of having his memory refreshed with, a second 
 time, and which had afforded peals of hearty laugh- 
 ter, to the merry soldiery. 
 
144 THE 
 
 MYSTERIES OF tT. CLAIR; 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 ** There is a flower which oft unheeded blows, 
 Amidst the splendour of the summer's ray ; 
 And though this simple flower no sweets disclose, 
 Yet would it tell thee all I wish to say. 
 And when we'e parted by the foaming sea. 
 And thou art heedless what may be my lot,— 
 IMl send that flower a messenger to thee, 
 And it shall whisper thus, — " iForget me not." 
 
 Phillips. 
 
 PERFECT courage or cowardice are extremes 
 rarely known ; some begin a battle with courage, but 
 relax at its continuance ; most are content to satisfy 
 the world's opinion. Some are very unequal in their 
 fears, and some are drawn on through panics ; some 
 attack through fear of remaining where they are ; small 
 dangers fire the courage of some, and prepare them 
 for greater ; some are brave with the sword and the 
 pistol ; and, as we find all is seldom done that seems 
 practicable, we may conclude the fear of death always 
 diminishes valour. 
 
 But no such fears alarmed or agitated the mind of 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen, much less had any such fears 
 
 M 
 

 ',M. \J iyJ^„,.r ic Hh^kt. Nr»u 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 145 
 
 to do with Steevy Macgreggor, as he sat at the head 
 of Bibbo's table, surrounded by the soldiery, with se- 
 veral flagons of ale before them ; and as its potent and 
 exhilirating influence was beginning to steal over their 
 senses, all their tongues were set in motion at once,^ 
 and all their humours waxed warmer, in proportion to 
 the quantities they had swallowed. 
 
 And all but the youthful page seemed to enjoy the 
 present scene of hilarity ; but the painful restraint 
 which necessity had imposed on his feelings, rendered 
 his situation extremely obnoxious and disgusting to 
 one whose habits and manners were so widely different, 
 and whose disposition was so mild and gentle ; yet 
 there was no alternative but patience, and that is a re- 
 medy which, though it does not cure the evils or the 
 misfortunes to which we are exposed, lessens their se- 
 verity and makes the smart divested of half its gall 
 and its bitterness. In silence, therefore, he was com- 
 pelled to listen to the coarse ribaldry of the soldiers, 
 and join in the loud laugh that was excited by their 
 boisterous mirth and pleasantry, or one single word had 
 betrayed him into their power. 
 
 And the following dialogue passed between them, to 
 which he listened with profound attention: — 
 
 Bibbo, who had drank his share out of Sir Walter's 
 liberality, with as good a grace as any of the soldiery, 
 without replacing any of the flagons, had now nearly 
 reduced himself to that mere empty state which makes 
 men considerably below the brute creation, however 
 wise they may imagine themselves in their own con- 
 ceit, and had entered into a very warm dispute with 
 Steevy Macgreggor, on the merits of the late victory, 
 obtained over the allied forces, by the gallant St. Ju- 
 7 T t 
 
140 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 5 
 
 liaii. Bibbo persisted in maintaining an argument 
 which every soldier present flatly contradicted ; and 
 he had broke out in the following indecorous and unci- 
 vil terms, respecting the courage, merit, and conduct of 
 St. Julian on that day which had proclaimed hinoi 
 conqueror, to the wonder and the admiration of the 
 whole world : — 
 
 " Yes, there was a bloody battle, no doubt !" ut- 
 tered he, with a contemptuous sneer ; " but where 
 is the use of it, I should be glad to know, but to 
 make us, poor rogues here, who cannot fight at all, 
 obliged to cry you mercy to every braggadocio that 
 chooses to thrust his nose in at your house and call for 
 what he likes, without a stiver to pay for it, merely 
 because they have a licence to cut a man's throat, and 
 blow a man's brains out with impunity ? but where is 
 the merit of it, or the good of it, cans't tell me that, 
 Steevy ? A murrain light upon the wars ! they 
 have been the ruin of us burgomasters, for many a 
 long day ; we have not had a turtle-feast since the 
 wars began ! and there is my harvest too, — a pretty 
 good-looking harvest I have made of it, for the devil 
 a man could I get to mow my grass, or thrash my 
 corn, but the answer was ' they are gone for a soldier, 
 to serve in the camp of St. Julian ;' not a sturdy fel- 
 low was to be had for love nor money, as the saying isj? 
 while these cursed wars have lasted, so belike they 
 will last another year, as long as St. Julian strides, 
 like a giant, over our vanquished armies, and defeats 
 our forces ; Bohemia will be spread in ruins, while St. 
 Julian strews Bohemian fields with our slaughtered 
 heroes. Steevy Macgreggor, talk e'en as thou wilt of 
 the glories of this youthful conqueror, but, by my good 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULIN E. 147 
 
 faith, he hath done no service to the country, save the 
 butchering of men — making wives widows, and children 
 fatherless." 
 
 " And burgomasters know their duty !" uttered 
 Macgreggor : " pitiless knaves ! plodding knaves ! 
 and worldly knaves ! whose sole virtue consists in 
 rubbing one shilling against another, to see whether 
 it be good or bad ; by my faith, they ne'er can do that 
 now without a tax upon their cursed love of gain, 
 plunder, and lucre," more loudly vociferated Steevy, 
 whose mettle was now roused by the arrogant preten- 
 sions and insolent reflections cast upon the conduct of 
 the brightest hero that ever shone in arms. " St. 
 JuHan hath done this service to the state and the 
 country, — he hath made some men tremble at their 
 conscience, which, by my faith, do bear an intolera- 
 ble burthen ; and you, you old blue-bottle ! you old 
 shining nose! who art tippling every hour in the twen- 
 ty-four, and cramming that round unwiedly paunch of 
 thine with the fatness of the land, — what hast thou to 
 do, to wag thy tongue aught in insolence against St. 
 Julian or the wars either, thou land-porpoise thou ? by 
 the goodly sword that hangs in my belt, thou deserv- 
 cst the fate of thy brother burgomaster, honest Pe- 
 tro, who is swinging on yon sign-post in the highway, 
 thou saucy knave thou ! Were it not for the wars, thou 
 numscull, and the brave fellows who have drained the 
 dearest drop of blood in their veins, where would 
 be thy fat carcase now, — and thy goods and thy chat- 
 tels, and thy oats and thy cattle, and thy smiling mea- 
 dows, fast ripening with corn ? who protected them, 
 porpoise, — answer me that — but the soldiery who fought 
 under the command of St. Julian, the young and the 
 
148 
 
 brave St. Julian ? who thrice like a thunderbolt, has 
 hurled vengeance on Bohemian foes, and spared the 
 country, which else had been a mouldering pile of dust 
 and ashes ! And who prevented it ? not the emperor, 
 whose mighty name thou bawlest so loudly in our ear, — 
 it was not Josephus who saved Bohemia from this wide 
 spreading ruin 1 no, by holy Paul, he was too fat and 
 lazy, and too fond of cardinals, and priests, and friars, 
 who count their beads twenty times a day between 
 whiles that they have crammed their unwieldly sto- 
 machs with dainty morsels, and think they have done 
 the state a mighty service! but a plague to their 
 ghostly council, I say, that would starve a man to 
 death of a cold winter's night, while they are feasting 
 off luxuries, and warming their bottle-noses by an em- 
 peror's fireside, — I say, while the priests and the friars 
 are so employed, soldiers are perishing, master Bibbo! 
 think of that, and hold your gab, when you talk of the 
 emperors and the Austrian allies doing you a service. 
 I say it was the mighty valour and the intrepidity of 
 St. Julian, or well had the emperor rued that day the 
 renegades retreated ! he may, perchance, rue it sorely 
 yet, when St. Julian's camp shall again be replenished 
 with ample stores, and the spirits of his exhausted 
 troops reanimated with the so much needed supplies 
 that the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen is bearing for 
 their relief. Think of this, master Bibbo, and hold 
 thy peace, thou croaking raven, or, by the sword of 
 a SQldier, I'll ne'er leave the sign of the queen and 
 the three crosses, till I give you a taste of a soldier's 
 vengeance !" 
 
 ! "Nay, nay, Steevy I I did npt mean to raise thy 
 choler so warmly," > uttered Bibbo, now not only in 
 
OR, MARICTTE MOULINE. 149 
 
 bodily fear, but heartily repenting, that he had men- 
 tioned the name of St. Julian in so indecorous a man- 
 ner, while Sir Walter De Ruthen and his followers 
 remained beneath his roof, from which he wished them 
 to make as speedy an exit as possible ; and eager to 
 repair the mischief which his own imprudent folly had 
 occasioned, he furthermore exclaimed, — 
 
 " Come, Steevy, let us fill another bright flask and 
 flaggon, and I will drink to the health of the brave 
 St. Julian, as long as I am able to stand, man, without 
 differing about a foolish piece of business, which nei- 
 ther you or I can get a stiver by, whether we are right 
 or wrong in the affair; and, in the cardinal's name, 
 let us be friends upon a march. I would not anger 
 thee, Steevy— I would not anger thee! so let us e'en 
 be friends, ere you b.e jogging on to the camp of St. 
 Julian, and be telling a tale that would not mend me 
 much, were the great conqueror to hear it. Come, 
 come 1 let us be friends ! save you, sirs, meud your 
 draughts, and let us part peaceable and quiet to our 
 roosts. Jacquelina, haste thee, jade, and bring more 
 ale, and another resh flask of brandy ! Santa Maria ! 
 it shall never be said, that Bibbo, the landlord of the 
 queen and the three crosses, e'er did a scurvy trick to 
 soldiery, when they stop at his house for quarters and 
 refreshment." 
 
 This salvo produced the desired effect in calming 
 the irritable warmth of Steevy ; and Jacquelina in- 
 stantly obeying the commands of her husband, the 
 health of St. Julian was drank in a bumper of three 
 times three ; in which, very unwillingly, the assumed 
 Francisco was obliged to bear his part, but so little 
 was Sir Orvillo Faulkner a votary of Bacchus, that 
 
150 
 
 he not only did violence to his inclination, in swallow- 
 ing^ down the copious draughts which were handed to 
 him in rotation, with the rest of the soldiery, but he 
 felt, if he continued to do so, that he would be serious- 
 ly indispossd, and incapable of any exertion, if requi- 
 red at a period so critical : and to avoid the fatal con- 
 sequences of inebriety, he actually feigned to be that, 
 which he would have blushed to have avowed in any other 
 situation ; and that was, to appear dead drunk, from the 
 effects of the potent draughts he had just partaken of : 
 and falling at length fast asleep on one of the mats 
 that was spread on the floor, he was suffered to remain 
 quietly there, without any interruption to his drowsy 
 slumbers. And thus stationed, he obtained a double 
 advantage over Sir Walter, who reposed in what 
 dame Jacquelina termed * the most sumptuous bed in 
 her house.' Thus did he acquire a knowledge of all 
 that was passing under the roof of Bibbo, and hear 
 the whole subject of the discourse of the soldiery ; 
 while he only feigned to be in profound slumber, he 
 could watch and attend to all their motions, as he laid 
 him on the mat, and it so happened, that it was the 
 only one that was spread in this apartment ; all the rest 
 of the bedding was disposed of in a more commodious 
 part of the house, so that only one mat remained, and 
 that being small, was placed in the very room where 
 they were now assembled, and had all slept. 
 
 " Yon poor trooper is quite done up," cried Bibbo, 
 hiccuping, from the effects of the libations he had 
 been offering to the only god that he adored, and 
 that was the god of wine : " or in other words, ' he 
 has sucked the monkey.' Now that's a pity ; for, as I 
 say, (hiccupipg again) when a man don't know 
 
OR, MARIETTE WOlTLINE. 151 
 
 when he has got his fill, he — he ought to be gibbetted ; 
 what say you, Steevy ?" 
 
 " What do I say P' roared out Macgreggor, on 
 whom the brandy was beginning to work most po- 
 tently ; " why, I say, if that were the case, you deserve 
 to be gibbetted as much as any man I know, master 
 Bibbo ! and that you would look as well on a gibbet, 
 since you are so fond^ one, as your friend Petro, the 
 burgomaster. What tiie devil ! cannot a poor fellow 
 stretch his weary limbs on a mat, and enjoy a nap, 
 without your troubling your head about the business ! 
 and as for getting any more at the sign of the queen 
 and the three crosses than what we have a right to, — 
 you are not much given to hospitality ! dot and carry 
 one, has served your turn in this world, master Bibbo, 
 but, by the faith of a soldier, it wont serve your turn 
 In the next, if you have nothing better to recommend 
 you." 
 
 *' Steevy ! Steevy ! do not be quarrelsome !" cried 
 Bibbo, " Santa Maria ! think you, I want to hurt the 
 poor rogue that lies sleeping there so soundly, that 
 it would seem, he never meant to wake again : by my 
 faith, he snores rarely, and so let him, for I am mar- 
 vellously given to snoring myself when I have had a 
 drop bf the good creature to sing me to a lullaby. 
 Steevy, a good night to you, I must away to my roost, 
 for I have got to rise at break of day ; there is a holi- 
 day feast to be held here to-morrow, and my old dame 
 and I must be busy, and take the shiners. We have 
 been reckoning on our gains at this feast-day, for a 
 month and more." 
 
 " But you may reckon your chickens before they 
 
152 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 are hatched, master Bibbo," uttered Steevy. " What 
 feast do you speak of ?" 
 
 *' Why hast thou not heard that the cardinal is 
 appointed to a great and mighty place in the convent 
 of Mariette Mouline," replied Bibbo, " for offering up 
 a vestal to its holy walls. Nay, thou must know it, 
 Steevy, for it is said, that vestal is the daughter of the 
 Lord Albino, who fell in battle with his gallant son, 
 and that the lady is the Lady Augustina Albino, whose 
 beauty surpasseth all Bohemian maids.'* 
 
 " By the faith of a soldier, thou mayest say that, and 
 ne'er say falsely," uttered Steevy. " The Lady Au- 
 gustina Albino is a rich jewel, beyond the wealth of 
 worlds to purchase ; for, in my mind, the beauty that 
 is to be bought and sold, is not worth a single sous 
 for any man to wear on his sle6ve, and I have a shrewd 
 guess, she is no more designed to enter the convent of 
 Mariette Mouline, as a vestal nun, then I am, and I 
 do not look much like a vestal, master Bibbo. But 
 where didst thou pick such a tale about the cardinal 
 and our sweetest young lady, Bibbo ? how shouldst 
 thou get intelligence of such private matters, when I, 
 who am living in the service of the Lady Margaret, 
 have never heard the tale you speak of ?" 
 
 *' That is my business, Steevy," cried Bibbo, who 
 with a lamp which he had taken from the table, was 
 now fast retreating towards the door — at least, as fast 
 as his legs could carry him ; all the soldiery, save 
 alone Macgreggor and the supposed Francisco, having 
 one by one stolen off, to enjoy a few moments repose, 
 which indeed, they stood much in need of, not only, 
 from being weary with the fatigue they had endured 
 for several successive hours, but actually overpowered 
 
OR, MATIIETTE MOULIN E. 153 
 
 Tvith the wine and liquors they had swallowed with 
 such avidity as almost to drown every other sense. 
 
 This was the condition of the soldiery when they 
 retired to the places which Jacquelina had set apart 
 for their repose ; and no one remained in the supper 
 room but Sir Orville Faulkner, in the disguise of 
 Francisco, when Bibbo and Macgreggor parted for the 
 night, or rather, for the morning — the tints of the ro- 
 seate sky already appearing through the casement . 
 and Bibbo being in a perfect state of stupidity, Mac- 
 greggor suffered him quietly to depart, without trou- 
 bling him with any further interrogatories respecting 
 the affairs of the Albino family; which not materi- 
 ally concerning the interests of the honest soldier, 
 (whether the Lady Augustina was, or was not to be 
 made a nun of) he betook him to his pallet in silence, 
 only nodding significantly to Bibbo as he closed the 
 door after him ; leaving the supposed trooper, as one 
 of the vassals belonging to Sir Walter De Ruthen, 
 locked in profound slumbers, and insensible to every 
 passing object around him. 
 
 The light was now extinguished, but not by the hand 
 of Jacquelina ; a softer and a lighter step approached 
 near to the mat where, to all appearance, the besotted 
 and drunken soldier laid. It was the figure of a youth- 
 ful female, so different in appearance to any Sir Orville 
 had yet beheld in the house of Bibbo, that, unseen and 
 unsuspected by her, he took a complete survey of her 
 features and countenance, as she softly took the lamp 
 that was yet burning faintly in the chamber, and now 
 and then stole a distant glance at the supposed insen- 
 sible sleeper. 
 The countenance of the female was pale, though 
 7 u f 
 
154 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 excessively lovely ; and there v^as an air of terror as 
 well as tender compassion, as she fearfully looked 
 round the apartment she was about to quit : aod yet 
 she seemed irresolute, and stealing one more glance at 
 the sleeper, she softly and involuntarily murmured, in 
 accents scarcely intelligible, — 
 
 *' Shall vengeance slumber for crimes like these ? 
 Remorseless wretches ! and inhuman savage brutes 1 
 •would they murder men while they are yet sleeping, 
 and, drowned with the excess of liquor, have no power 
 of defending themselves from the fell butcher's knife ? 
 Oh ! ye blest gods ! that bade me not to sleep while I 
 listened to the cruel plot formed against the lives of 
 these poor harmless men by my wicked uncle and his 
 base accomplices ! Oh, with what fearful beatings does 
 my bosom heave lest they should already have entered 
 the chamber where yon gallant warrior slee[)s, distant 
 and alone. They named him first, 1 remember, in the 
 black list of the wretched victims they have doomed to 
 slaughter, for the love of the rich treasures that he hath 
 the charge of. I heard it, and my blood ran cold at the 
 suggestion 1 how — how shall I be able to give them 
 warning of their fate, while they are thus overpowered 
 with drunkenness and sleep? Would that this pros- 
 trate soldier here on this mat, had the sense to under- 
 stand me, that he might give the alarm to his fellow- 
 men, and tell them to guard their lives against the 
 ruffians who will presently surprize them. My uncle 
 calls me." — 
 
 The distant name of Morgiana was now utter€^d be- 
 tween drunkenness and sleep, by the voice of Bibbo, 
 and the female softly responded to his call,-r 
 
 " All is secure, uncle : the soldiers are profoundly 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 155 
 
 sleeping', and I am just going to put out the light of 
 the last lamp." 
 
 " See that thou do it quickly, then," cried Bibbo, 
 " or I will hide thee soundly, thou lazy Jezebel ! 
 then away to thy chamber, —and stir not for thy life if 
 thou hearest disturbance, — if thou dost, I will make 
 thee repent of thy prying curiosity." 
 
 " I will obey thy bidding," answered Morgiana, in a 
 tremulous accent ; " even now the lamps are out, save 
 the light I am going to take to my chamber. Good 
 night, uncle!" 
 
 He answered the response in a surly tone, and Mor- 
 giana, who had of necessity extinguished the light, 
 was left in total darkness near the mat where the sup- 
 posed soldier laid. Now heaven defend the cause of 
 the innocent," softly murmured she. " Soldier, arise, 
 and if thou art courageous, save the lives of thy com- 
 rades ! Soldier, answer me, — art thou awake ?" 
 
 The sensations of Sir Orville Faulkner may better 
 be imagined than described, as he had watched the 
 motions of this heroic girl ; and instantly starting from 
 his recumbent posture, he as softly uttered, — 
 
 " I am neither drunken nor sleeping, thou compas- 
 sionate kind maid, thanks to thy warning, which heaven 
 has inspired thee with to save the lives of thy fellow- 
 creatures. Desert me not, at this perilous moment, 
 I implore thee! Complete thy heavenly purpose, 
 and angels, kind as thou art, shall reward thee with 
 tenfold blessings ! — conduct me to the chamber where 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen lies sleeping, and I fear 
 nothing !" 
 
 ** Give me, then, thine hand," cried Morgiana, " and, 
 in silence mute as death, follow ray footsteps." 
 
158 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 The page did as he was directed : he grasped the 
 soft hand that was extended towards him, and she led 
 him in darkness through many winding passages till 
 she suddenly stopped : — ^^ 
 
 " Here,** softly uttered she, "is a flight of stone 
 steps : you must ascend them, — there is no danger of 
 your falling if you take this rope ; it will conduct you 
 safely to the door of the chamber where Sir Walter is 
 sleeping ; then quickly arouze him. Should you not 
 have time to give him warning of his fate, and hear a 
 noise like a whistle, 'tis the approach and the signal of 
 the assassins, — then betake thee to a trap-door which lies 
 to the left, — mark me, to the left, — the least touch will 
 open it, and you will descend to a cavern where a holy 
 hermit dwells ; he is my godfather, and his dwelling 
 is secure, and unknown to my uncle and the robbers of 
 the forest. Tell him, Mopgiana sent you thither for 
 the purpose of concealment, and at least you and Sir 
 Walter will be preserved from such outrage.** 
 
 " But what will be the fate of our brave companions," 
 cried Sir Orville, shuddering at the thoughts that they 
 would have no possibility of making their escape. 
 
 " But I will endeavour to warn them of their danger, 
 while yet I have a moment to spare,** cried Morgiana. 
 ** There are yet two-full hours before my uncle will arise 
 from his slumbers, and he has drunken wine to make 
 him sleep the sounder. T will go and see if my aunt, 
 dame Jacquelina, is as quiet as he is, for, truly, she 
 loveth her drops, and has to-night been drinking fr-eely 
 with the robbers of the Black Forest, who have been 
 plundering divers persons, and have shared a rich 
 Jjooty. By what I could learn from the snatches I 
 gathered of their discourse, while I feigned sleeping, 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 157 
 
 they intended to attack the cavalcade which they were 
 apprized was journeying forward to the canap of St, 
 Julian, and fired off some shot in the forest, thinking 
 that it would pass thither, and alarm the soldiery ; but 
 presently they had other game in view, or they would 
 have pursued you in the bye-paths through which you 
 came to the queen and the three crosses. And while 
 my blood crept in ray veins as I heard the atrocious 
 plan contrived, I watched the moment of the departure 
 of the robbers, and of my uncle's retiring for the night ; 
 when, knowing that I should be sent hither to ex- 
 tinguish the lamps, as is my wonted custom, heaven 
 inspired me with the thought to awaken you, and wara 
 you of your danger, and that of your fellow-soldiers.'* 
 
 " And for that thought, kind, pitying, and compas- 
 sionate maid, may angels reward you," uttered Sir Or- 
 ville. 
 
 " Hark ! methought I heard the distant trampling 
 of horses," more softly responded Morgiana. " I 
 must *way, and try to give alarm to the sleeping sol- 
 diery, — a monient longer may be too late ! Hasten to 
 Sir Walter, — so heaven guide and prosper thee !", 
 
 The light step of Morgiana was gone in an instant, 
 and Sir Orville was left in darkness to grope his way 
 to the chamber of the sleeping warrior ; keeping 
 to the left, and holding by the rope which she had 
 given him, he hurried on with the rapidity of light- 
 ning ; his heart panting with terror and dismay at the 
 perils which surrounded him, and the uncertainty of 
 being yet safe and secure from the hands of the rob- 
 bers. At length, he reached the wished for door, — 
 his heart beat high, — his hand trembled as he assayed 
 to touch it ! 
 
158 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 " Sir Walter! Sir Walter! awake and rise!" ut- 
 tered he. " We are surprised by treachery ! — Bibbo 
 has played us falsely ! — we are betrayed iuto the hands 
 of robbers, who even now approach to murder us, and 
 seize on our treasures ! Arise, quickly, and give me 
 entrance, I implore you, or we are lost for ever !'* 
 
 No sooner were these words uttered in breathless 
 accents, and with the most fearful alarm, then ;?ir 
 Walter, hastily grasping his sword, and buckling on 
 his armour, drew back the bolt, and beheld the pale 
 and panic-struck countenance of Sir Orville Faulkner. 
 '* Courage, boy !" uttered he, in an intrepid tone, 
 " and fear nothing ! for if there is aught to fear, thy 
 fears could naught avail thee. Robbers I tush ! tush ! 
 thou hast been dreaming, boy, and art frighted with 
 these idle terrors possessing thy brain. But, were it 
 true, we have many stout hearts among us, that would 
 grapple with them. Speak, boy, how camest thou by 
 this intelligence ?" 
 
 Sir Orville immediately informed hira, — andllcarce- 
 ly had he done so, ere a contusion of indistinct sounds, 
 proceeding from without, assailed their ears. 
 
 " Fly, sir I" cried Sir Orville, " let us open the 
 trap-door, and instantly endeavour to escape ; for it 
 is, no doubt, the approach of the robbers to the habi- 
 tation of Bibbo, that we now hear !" 
 
 A hollow gust of wind that burst through the casement 
 which in several places was left exposed to the ele- 
 ments, whether they were calm or rough, prevented the 
 possibility of their hearing distinctly any further sound, 
 or even the whistle which Morgiana had told Sir Or- 
 ville, would be the signal of approach for the attack 
 of the robbers ; there was then an almost immediate 
 
 '#, 
 
OR, MARJETTE HOULINE. 159 
 
 necessity of searching for the trap-door, and descend- 
 ing to the cavern, as the only place of security. 
 
 And although to run from danger was not the gene- 
 ral habit oi Sir Walter cie Ruthen, and that for him- 
 self he would not have cared to have braved even death, 
 in a glorious cause, — yet, the poor youth he had enlisted 
 in his service — to have him butchered in cool blood, in 
 an affray with these daring desperadoes, was a thought 
 he shuddered at, he was determined to seek the 
 means of safety while it yet remained in his power, — 
 having more confidence in the kind maid who had thus 
 warned them of their coming danger, than in the vas- 
 sals belonging to the service of the Lady Margaret 
 Albino, ---the intrepid SteevyMacgreggor alone excep- 
 ted, and lie had the courage to defend himself. Thus 
 resolved on the means of immediate flight, he sought 
 for the trap-door,as described by the niece of Bibbo,and 
 in a few minutes discovered the object of their search ; 
 the secret opening gave way in an instant, and they 
 descended, by a flight of rugged steps, into a cavern, 
 which, when they reached the bottom, left them in such 
 total darkness, that they knew not whither to proceed, 
 or where to stop ; while the noxious vapour that issued 
 from thence almost stifled them In this perilous situ- 
 ation, they remained for some moments in profound 
 silence ; not thinking it prudent to exchange a syllabic 
 with each other, fearful that the most distant whisper 
 would discover the place of their retreat. 
 
 A death-like coldness hung on the brow of Sir Or- 
 ville Faulkner, and, unused to terrors such as these, 
 he feebly grasped the arm of his protector : who, in 
 silence, returned him a pressure of kindly warmth, 
 softly whispering, — " Fear not, the interposition of 
 
160 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 almighty Providence,— and take courage, boy ; some- 
 thing' tells me, we are not doomed to perish thus, and 
 that a kinder fate awaits us. Be of good cheer ; take 
 stoutly hold of mine arm, and we will grope our 
 way farther ; and give me a corner of thy cloak, that, 
 shouldst thou chance to stumble, boy, I may bear thee 
 up again." 
 
 In this way they proceeded, apparently on an even 
 ground, some paces further, without the slightest ob- 
 stacle in their way, save alone the impenetrable dark- 
 ness by which they were surrounded ; while the mute 
 silence that prevailed, and the gloomy terrors of the 
 almost unknown retreat to which they had fled for re- 
 fuge, in this momentous hour of necessity, seemed as 
 they had passed the boundaries of all mortal existence, 
 and were actually entering into the still and quiet 
 mansions of the dead ; so little did they appear to have 
 any connection with the living. At length, suddenly 
 exclaimed Sir Walter,— 
 
 *' By my sword and buckler, mine eyes deceive me, 
 or I discern the feeble rays of a light which, ever and 
 anon doth glimmer upon us ; it doth come to the right 
 side of us : look, boy ! look ! dost thou not behold it ?'* 
 
 " I do I— I do 1" uttered Sir Orville ; " it comes 
 nearer and nearer, as we advance towards it. Oh, sir, 
 in such a moment how cheering is that light to us, — 
 more bright doth it seem than the god of day, with all 
 its meridian splendour—yon feeble little ray, that 
 sheds its light on this horrible darkness ! Let us follow 
 its kindly beams, I pray you, sir ; I marvel much if it 
 doth not lead to the abode of the hermit, to whom I am 
 charged with a message from the kind maid to whom 
 we owe our present security." 
 
 t 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. lf>l 
 
 No sooner had Sir Orville Faulkner uttered these 
 words, than the faint light shot out naore brilliant 
 beams, and seemed advancing towards them ; they 
 could now discern the path they were pursuing-, and 
 perceive the objects that surrounded themj'— nor was 
 the appearance of the cavern half so terrific, as, utter- 
 ly involved in darkness, they before imagined it to be. 
 They could now plainly distinguish the part from 
 whieh the light sent forth its kindly and enlivening 
 rays, and found that it issued from an adjoiriing recess, 
 the outside of which was covered with dark moss and 
 ivy, and simply decorated with a variety of party co- 
 loured shells, collected from the neighbouring sea- 
 shore : and, as they advanced nearer to it, they beheld 
 a venerable figure, with a lighted taper in his hand, " - 
 and clad in the habit of a pilgrim, coming forth to meet 
 them : his beard, which was white as snow, descended 
 to his breast, from which no crozier was suspended, or 
 rosary, or beads ; but a prayer-book was half disclosed 
 beneath his vest of grey woollen. He seemed grave, 
 but not austere in his cast of expression of features, 
 which were handsome and of heavenly mildness ; 
 his age couhl not be guessed precisely at, nor could 
 it easily be mistaken ; and he accosted them with the 
 following words : — 
 
 " My son, what seekest thou ? or what is thy ca- 
 lamity, that at the midnight hour thou comest for re- 
 fuge here ? for to none but the suffering, and the virtu- 
 ous, and the nobly brave doth Anselmo the hermit 
 grant his protection. How didst thou gain entrance 
 itito this cavern ? and by whom wert thou directed 
 hither ? tell me that truly, and truly I will render thee -^ 
 
 assistance shouldst thou need any. Say what thou 
 ..7 X , 
 
162 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CXAIR ; 
 
 art, and what are the injuries thou complainest of, 
 that induced thee to visit Ansehno at this lonely hour 
 of midnight's fearful gloom ? by whom wert thou di- 
 reeted hither, and by what secret intelligence didst thou 
 learn to find an entrance into this cavern ? known to no 
 mortal being save one alone, and she is '' 
 
 " Morgiana, thy god-daughter, holy father !" ut- 
 tered Sir Orville Faulkner : " alas I but for her, kind 
 maid, me and this gallant warrior, whom thou seest 
 with me, had met with rough usage at the house of 
 Bibbo, the landlord of the sign of the queen and the 
 three crosses, in whose house, joui;neying with sup- 
 plies to the camp of St. Julian, we tarried awhile to 
 sieep and take refreshments ; nor knew we aught of the 
 treachery that was designed against us, to plunder, 
 perchance to murder us, and all our followers, till 
 warned by Morgiana, of the immediate peril of our 
 lives ; by her direction we came hither- --by her instruc- 
 tions we found the entrance to this cavern I — in pity, 
 protect us then, oh, holy father, from the hands of the 
 ruthless robbers, who wait, e'en now, in Bibbo's house, 
 to destroy us. Conceal us any where in this cavern, 
 so they may not guess at the place of our retreat.'' 
 
 «4' And if thou desirest gold, here is plenty for thee,'' 
 cried Sir Walter. ** Ask what thou wilt, 1 will not 
 deny thee, so thou wilt let us abide with thee till 
 morning.'* 
 
 Till now, no' change had marked the expression of 
 mildness in the countenance of Anselmo, but at this 
 profter, the hectic of a moment crimsoned his cheek 
 with a resentful glow, which was neither the effect of 
 pride or passion, as scornfully waving his hand, he 
 exclaimed, — 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 163 
 
 " Gold ! and dost thou think that hunaanity, the 
 brightest gem that e*er gives lustre to human actions > 
 is the price of gold, or that compassion can be bought 
 and sold, with one who has renounced the world and 
 all its vanities and follies, — and that I value gold more 
 than I do the loye of heaven or of virtue ! — No, sir I 
 whoe'er thou art, and however wise thou art in worldly 
 wisdom, thou art mistaken in the character of Ansel- 
 mo ! for never did he value gold as the choicest trea- 
 sure that a man can bear about him. No, sir ! had 
 I done this, .this cavern, remote from intercourse 
 with human beings, had not now been my habitation, 
 and these rude rocks my pillow,— water my drink, and 
 the kindly herbs that nature sends forth, my luxury 
 of food, — to me more precious than all the pam- 
 pered sons of bloated affluence could giveu — all that 
 wealth e'er knew ; for the water is pure and the 
 food is nature's : content sweetens the draughts, and 
 health incites the appetite ; sleep softens the bed of 
 leaves I repose on,— and peace with heaven is bliss 
 on earth. In the world I could not find it,— 1 lived out 
 friendship, and I beheld the end of love ; I have sur- 
 vived ingratitude in the one, and despised the apos- 
 tacy and fickleness of the other ; I cherish no hope 
 here, for hope in human expectations is but a fleeting 
 shadow! v^at then remains for one who so little 
 prizes earthly things, but the hope hereafter : there 
 have 1 made my foundation, and there the basis can 
 never be shaken. It is my staff— it is my pillow — it 
 is my tower of defence against mine enemies ; and to 
 such a man dost thou then think that gold is tempting ? 
 or that it e'er would bribe me to do a kindly action, had 
 
164 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR*, 
 
 I not nobler views, and better rewards than it e'er 
 could purchase ? 
 
 No, son ! put up thy gold,— I'll haye none of it. 
 Enter yon recess, shaded with the ivy and the moss, 
 and I will give thee both food and drink, and shelter 
 thee from the sons of wickedness and sin. The poor 
 desolate, yie* virtuous raaid«wi who sent thee hither, 
 knew that I would do this for all who suffer in the 
 perilous hour, whether they are driven by storm or 
 calamity, to seek protection from Anselmo. But not 
 for gold, good sirs !--not for gold, would I lend my 
 pity, or sell my fellow-feeling for my fellow- men . H« 
 who does this is abjured of heaven ; for heaven gives 
 not pity to be bought and sold. It falls like gentle 
 dews upon the opening flowers — giving and stealing 
 odours from their balmy leaves ; for what it steals is 
 its own, and what it gives is drawn from heaven. I 
 pray you enter, sons, and freely share the comforts and 
 the convenience of a lonely hermit's cave, — and fear not 
 treachery nor surprise ; Morgiana told you truly, when 
 she said that here you might be secure from the power 
 of thine adversaries. No robbers ever durst search the 
 dwellings of Anselmo, for here perished one of their 
 atrocious tribe ; hung in chains, he died in this cavern 
 for the enormity of his crimes, by order of the Emp«ror 
 Josephus, grandfather to the present reigning one, 
 ■who rules the court of Vienna : and in those days su- 
 perstition swayed men's minds so fearfully, that it was 
 said, the gibbetted robber thrice appeared to his con- 
 federates in the Black Forest, to warn them of this 
 cavern, — never to enter it, on peril of their lives, and 
 their immediate safety. And what is so strong, so 
 powerful, as the influence of superstition on the minds 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 166 
 
 of the unlearned and the profoundly ignorant ? Such 
 was the terror and the fears that it conveyed, that 
 never to this day, has a robber of the Black Forest 
 attempted to penetrate the mysteries of this cavern, 
 or, in any shape, molest its peaceful and seques- 
 tered repose, in the universal belief that the gi- 
 gantic form of the gibbetted robber appeared every 
 night, and shook the chains by which his now shape- 
 less bones were suspended, to warn his brother robbers 
 of their destined fate. Some tradition goes, that he 
 wore a huge pair of horns on his head, and blew a 
 trumpet when any robbers came nigh this cavern, to 
 tell them' what might happen if they ventured here. 
 
 Thus has superstition prevailed long, and before I 
 could mention the day that I came hither, and chose it 
 for the place of my retreat, and calm retirement from 
 all ^rthly cares : and by this is the secresy of this 
 cavern rendered inviolate from the attack of the rob- 
 bers ever since I inhabited it. They know that 1 so- 
 journ here, aod suffer me to dwell quietly in my peace- 
 ful, but, to them, so much dreaded abode, from two 
 most ostensible causes : the first of which is, that they 
 are well aware that I possess nothing that they could 
 rob me of; and the second, that they foolishly and 
 superstitiously imagine that 1 have the power of divi- 
 natiott, and hold communion with the spirit of the de- 
 parted robber, and that, by my art, I can conjure up 
 every hour of the day and the night, to deal destruc- 
 tion to all who would attempt art entrance here. Thus 
 is this cavern a place of the most periect security, al- 
 though adjacent, and even connected with the house 
 of Bibbo ;, but with the trap-door through which you 
 descended be is totally unacquainted ; and why it is 
 
166 THF M^'STBRIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 connected with this old ruinous building, I will tell 
 you. — It was formerly the dwelling of Rankhausen, 
 the name of the fell monster who perished here— the 
 robber of the Black Forest, whose very name struck 
 terror in every breast in all the country round ; for to 
 the house which he then inhabited,— the sign of the 
 queen and the three crosses— >this savage, in mortal 
 shape, dragged his victims, and in the cavern either 
 slaughtered them, or doomed them to a lingering death 
 in cruel tortures ! 
 
 No wonder then that the name of Rankhausen, and 
 this cavern still inspires dread and infuses terror, with 
 all those miscreants who glory in an imitation of all 
 his lawless crimes and wicked depredations ; but daring 
 as they are, would still avoid his punishment, and the 
 fate he so deservedly met with. Thus doth evil, mys- 
 terious as it may seem to vreak, blind, and erring mor- 
 tals, produce good ; for I am not only secure in this 
 lonely retreat> from the invasion of this savage and re- 
 morseless race of abject beings, but I am enabled, by 
 these very means, to protect others from their violence 
 and their rapine. Many rich treasures have been con- 
 cealed in this cavern from the power of these lawless 
 plunderers ; and many an innocent victim spared from 
 their remorseless cruelty. Oh, my sons 1 would you 
 search into the ways of heaven, and its divine myste- 
 ries, you would ever find them just, though to you for 
 awhile inscrutable : and why is it so ?— -to make men 
 wise as angels was never destined by almighty Provi- 
 dence, since the fall of the first man he ever created — 
 for, with all his wisdom, he would still have sinned 
 the more. Thus is the book shut to mortal knowledge, 
 nor e'er revealed till we have passed the ordeal of di- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE* 167 
 
 vine judgment, and have quitted our earthly tenures of 
 clay—*' 
 
 « Then pilgrim turn, thy cares forego. 
 All earth-bom care is wrong; 
 Man wants but little here below. 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 exclaimed Anselmo, in the words of the inspired and 
 animated poet, and' gently unclosing the door of the 
 recess, composed wholly of shells and other curious 
 materials, simply of nature's own manufacturing, he 
 conducted his guests to a comfortable and convenient, 
 although not a spacious apartment ; the decorations 
 and furniture of which merely consisted of the trunks 
 of aged oaks, levelled down for the purpose of benches 
 to sit on, and a larger one was used for a table,— so 
 neatly and ingeniously contrived by the venerable 
 owner of (his simple abode, that he declared that he 
 had taught himself, by continual practice and habit, to 
 become an expert carpenter and joiner, as well as 
 blacksmith ; and that in constant employment and 
 contrivance to render the cavern a useful and agreeable 
 place of residence, in his long sojournment in it, he hail 
 foand his health and his spirits, (which were before 
 materially impaired] considerably amended. " Thus 
 can man, even in the most remote and solitary dwel- 
 ling," added the hermit, with a placid smile, that mo- 
 narchs might have envied the serenity of, " make 
 himself contented, and even blest, with a very moderate 
 share of what may be deemed the comforts and the 
 blessings of this life in which the passage is but a short 
 one to that of eternal and everlasting peace. Why, 
 then docs man seek to embitter it ? why plant thorns 
 
168 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 where nature has so abundantly scattered roses ? and, 
 if he will not stoop to gather them, what right has he 
 to expect that he is to enjoy their fragrance ? 
 
 By artificial wants he renders himself miserable, — • 
 by the anticipation of woes, and fancied evils to come, 
 he makes himself wretched and weary, and disgusted 
 with that little world in which he is not destined to 
 continue long, and is suddenly snatched from it by the 
 awful messenger of death ; for one precious njoment, 
 then would he linger, and stay the hand that cuts him 
 short in the midst of his complainings and his guilty 
 murmurings. But it cannot be : he must go hence, 
 and be no more seen, and ' all his yesterdays creeping 
 into this petty space of time,' as the immortal Shakes- 
 peare says, * will seem as nothing/ '' 
 
 " Holy father, thou sayest truly, and art no flat- 
 terer,** uttered Sir Walter, seating himself on one of 
 the oak trunks, while Sir Orville occupied another be- 
 side him, pleased with the soul- inspiring truths which 
 came from the mouth of a man who was neither priest 
 nor cardinal nor any professor of a religious order, and 
 yet his discourse was such as to make a convert of the 
 most hardened sinner, without mounting a pulpit to 
 deliver his orations, or preaching a funeral sermon 
 over the remains of departed royalty, at the expense 
 
 of a nation's what ?—tears ? No 1 nor gratitude 1 
 
 no, the sympathy it produced was of a far less pleasing 
 kind, and one that gained but little estimation with the 
 discerning few. 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, I respect no man that 
 meanly cond\cscends to flatter the vanities and encou- 
 rage the follies and the vices of mankind," cried Sir 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULr^E. 169 
 
 Walter; *^ Truth is a plain spoken gentleman, who 
 will never be cheated, and they are fools only who 
 imagine that he will ever submit to wear a mask, 
 whose honest features want no concealment." 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 " Know ye the land, where the cypress and myrtle. 
 
 Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? 
 
 Where the rage of the vulture — the love of the tnrlle. 
 
 Now melt into sorrow — now madden to crime ? 
 
 Know ye the land of the cedar and vine. 
 
 Where the flowers ever blossom, — the beams ever shine ; 
 
 Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine. 
 
 And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 
 
 'Tis the clime of the East — 'tis the land of the Sun : 
 
 Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?' 
 
 Lord Btron. 
 
 SOME refreshment, which consisted of honey and 
 grapes, and a few figs of the most delicious quality, 
 were placed by Anselnio bt fore his guests, and, 
 with a smile of beneficent kindness, he invited them to 
 partake cf his humble fare ; but neither Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen, nor his youthful companion, felt the slightest 
 inclination to indulge in the gratification of appetite -, 
 and^ .thanking the venerable good man for his kind 
 proffers of civility towards them, they declined tasting 
 
 a8 Y 
 
170 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 of the simple repast he had placed biefore them, on 
 accoiiiit of the critical situation in which they now 
 stobd, and the anxiety they endured for the lives of the 
 soldieiy. Sir Walter was gratified beyond expression 
 with the manners and conversation of so intelligent 
 a being as the venerable man who had afforded them 
 u refuge in so perilous a situation, yet to remain insen- 
 sible of the dangers that were suspending over h*s 
 liead, and that of his youthful companion, was impos- 
 sible ; and he boldly resolved to sally forth, alone, 
 from the hermit's cavern, leaving Sir Orville Faulkner 
 secure, under the care of the good Anselmo, to en- 
 quire after the fate of the soldiery, and whether plun- 
 der, rapine, or murder, had really been the intentions 
 of Bibbo towards him, — and whether it had been ef- 
 fected during his absence from the queen and the three 
 crosses. 
 
 But scarce had so rash a thought entered his imagi- 
 nation, (for rash it would have been to all intents and 
 purposes,) before voices, in confused and indistinct 
 sounds, assailed their ears, at the mouth of the cavern; 
 and that of Steevy Macgreggor was plainly distinguish- 
 able above all the rest : — 
 
 " What, ho ! — Come on, and fear nothing," utter- 
 ed he, " I tell you, Baldv, belike that we shall find 
 them hei^d, after all our twistings, and our turnings, 
 and our windings : that brave wench, who has been 
 the saving of some lives to-night, plainly directed us 
 to the spot — in the hermit's cave, she said, shaded with 
 dark moss and ivy — to the left, mark you, — and, if you 
 had not the eyes of a iioose, you might grope it out." 
 
 Tt) which, a sonorotis and gruff voice growled out 
 in reply : — 
 
OR, MARIETIE MOULINE. 171 
 
 " If we had the devil's eyes, we should be a couple 
 of clever ones, to grope in the dark and expect to find 
 moss and ivy in such a confounded hole as this : a 
 murrain to all such plaguy expeditions, I say; I 
 would the camp of St. Julian had been set on fire, ere 
 I had ventured my neck for it, for I suppose the old 
 fellow has nabbed it ; I gave him a pretty smartish 
 douse over his greasy chops, just as the pretty wench 
 was crying me mercy, to save the life of the old por- 
 poise; but, by St. Jago, I believe it was too late, for 
 ipy blade had done its duty, and I left him like a suck- 
 ing-pig, bleeding on tlje floor, with two of the black- 
 looking rascals to bear him company.'* 
 
 *' Yes — we l^^^ve had warm work of it, sure enough, 
 Baldy," cried Macgreggor ; " and as to master Bibbo — 
 if yoM have helped him to slip his wind — so much the 
 bettei ; he may go and shake hands with his friend 
 Petno, the burgomaster, for belike, they were both 
 meat for the same master. And as for the old dame, 
 she will tell no tales, I warrant me, for I tied her, 
 ne.ck and heejs, and crammed her into the cellar; but, 
 for thje kind-hearted we^h, that led us on to the sport, 
 I would I knew w^here she vanished, when you grab- 
 bed old Bibbo, and gaye hioi that goodly thrust with 
 your sword ; I heard hey utter a |)iteous cry, and lu.sh 
 towards the outw^ard g^te; and, by my faith I was 
 too much engaged vvitii making mincemeat of the 
 dastardly cowards, who would have done Sir Walter 
 iD.e Ruthen i^ goodly turn, as well as us, if we had not 
 resisted them so desper^t,ely. Coipe on ! there is a 
 light th.at gleams brightly from yQn(|er corner; it is 
 on ithe left, as tlje jpa\ql .ejected \\s; lot us hasten to- 
 wards it — perchance it is the hermit." 
 
17*2 THE xMYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 As every syllable had been heard by Aiiselmo and 
 Sir Walter, of the foregoing conversation, there was 
 not a doubt but the robbers had been driven to the 
 route, and desperately wounded in the contest, by the 
 superior force, courage, and intrepidity of the brave 
 soldiery; and now doubly anxious to learn the result 
 of Macgreggor's onset with them, Anselmo, trimming 
 his lamp afresh, that it might shed a brighter flame on 
 the darkness of the cavern, bore it in his hand, and 
 advanced some paces forward to meet the bewildered 
 strangers, who presently, guided by the friendly ta- 
 per, approached the venerable man. 
 
 " Save you, holy father!'^ uttered Macgreggor, as 
 soon as he beheld him, " hast thou seen or heard aught 
 of a gallant stranger, by name Sir Walter De Rulhen, 
 who, with a soldier from the camp of St. Julian, be- 
 took themselves to flight, from the sign of the queen 
 and the three crosses, on a warning — given them by 
 a kind damsel, in the house of Bibbo — that the rob- 
 bers had a design to attack and to plunder the rich 
 stores that were proceeding to the camp of St. Julian, 
 and to murder us. The damsel found means also to 
 apprise us of the treachery that was conspired against 
 us ; in breathless accents told us of the trap-door 
 which would conduct us to the entrance of this cavern, 
 provided we could not escape, or have sufficient of our 
 party to contend with the robbers, who were power- 
 ful in numbers. 
 
 " Save then yourselves by immediate flight V* cried 
 the brave wench ; " the trap door lies to the left of the 
 chamber in which Sir Walter has been sleeping, and 
 through which he has, no doubt, by this time, escaped 
 
 -m 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 173 
 
 with the young soldier whom I sent to apprise him of 
 the clanger that awaited him." 
 
 " And he is ah*eady here in perfect security," cried 
 the venerable Anselmo, " and the young soldier thou 
 speakest of is with him : they are both in yon cave, 
 to which I will shortly give thee entrance, where thou 
 inayest converse freely on thy perilous adventures." 
 
 So saying, the hermit led the way to the recess, 
 where Sir Walter greeted the brave Macgreggor with 
 the most cordial salutation, commending him for the 
 dauntless bravery he had evinced towards him, and 
 enquiring how he had left the situation of affairs in the 
 house of Bibbo, after the robbers had been defeated 
 and driven back to their quarters in the Black Forest. 
 
 " Oh ! by St. Jago ! we never went back to see your 
 honour," cried Macgreggor, " for it was not many 
 minutes I had to prepare me for the rum work 1 had 
 to go through ; the maiden having scarce given the 
 alarm before a dozen of the blackest looking rascals 
 my eyes ever beheld, rushed in, armed cap-a-pee, on 
 every side ; but by the Lord, I made them sing small 
 before I had done with them, and every mother's son 
 will have reason to remember this night's work, at the 
 sign of the queen and the three crosses, for I do believe 
 they have all had a scratch of some of the stoutest 
 blades that were ever handled by a Bohemian soldier. 
 When they demanded the keys where we had depo- 
 sited our stores, I made no more to do than fire on 
 them, helter skelter, and some were wounded despe- 
 rately : I then rallied our men, and we fought as des- 
 perately with our swords, till they were glad to give 
 in, and fly Bibbo*s house as fast as possible. Two of 
 their gang, with Bibbo himself, lie weltering in blood 
 
 mm 
 
174 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 Oil the floor ; the old wom^l^ I disposed of in a diife- 
 ferent way — she is quiet enough, I will be bound to 
 say, in old Blue-bottle's cellar, for I will be sworn she 
 capnot move an inch nor a limb of her, 1 gagg'd her 
 so tightly : but for the young maid who had the cou- 
 rage to act so fearlessly and so bravely, I know not 
 whither she fled to, as in piteous accents she implored 
 U)s to have mercy, and spare the life of the treacherous 
 Bibbo.'' 
 
 '• And didst thou not grant the poor maid her sup- 
 plication ?" demanded Anselmo. " Methinks the gra- 
 titude you owed her for the alarm she gave of the pe- 
 rilpus situation in which you stood, might have caused 
 you to yield to her entreaty. The old man could do 
 nothing of himself; and when the robbers had fled you 
 were safe from further violence or outrage. Thou 
 didst not murder Bibbo ? Let me hope that he escaped 
 your vepgeapce." 
 
 To which Macgreggor surlily replied, for he was by 
 »o meaDs pleased with the manner of A«selp3o towards 
 bim— 
 
 ** Holy f^-ther, you might as well ask why I did not 
 wink at the proceedings of tfce hjoary-headed rascal 
 who first betrayed us into the hands of the robbers^ 
 &nd then left us to their mercy^ who, with the good 
 will of Bibbo — whom thoij so jregar.dest with thy pity 
 r^feftd they prev^jjed against us, had never left a man 
 among us to itejl hi^ tale as I do now. And, save thy 
 reverence^ hojy father, you might as well ask, why 
 we djki Jjiot stay and yield us to the perilous situation 
 ^e stood in, and share tb§ rich spoils the robbers were 
 in search q{^ You might as well ^nd as wisely de- 
 iw^ded to know, why vye did not join with the rob- 
 
OR, MAfelETTfe SfduUWE. 175 
 
 b6rs, and possess otoelVes 6f th6 stores that were de- 
 posited in the premises of this infernal monster, who, 
 forgettihg all laws, human and divine, treacherously 
 betrayed his trust, and committed the lives and pro- 
 perty of brave and gallant men, into the hands of 
 savage ruthless desperadoes, on purpose to satisfy 
 his base love of lucre. By holy Paul, I would not 
 spare such a man, were he my own father, — much less 
 the villain who lies bleeding by his own crime and 
 folly 1 but. Whether the wounds be mortal that were 
 dealt to him in the affray, I know not ; it Was not by 
 my hand he fell, as Baldy here can witness." 
 
 *^ That, by my good faith, can I !" uttered the s6l* 
 dlciS ''Mt was I that dealt the old codger the blow that 
 laid him flat on the ground, before he could cry pe- 
 cavie." 
 
 "And in doing which you only did your duty,*' cried 
 Sir Walter, eyeing Baldy with complacency, and by 
 no means relishing Ansel mo's pleading in behalf of the 
 miscreant who had so treacherouly betrayed them and 
 given rise to such disturbance ; ^' and which every man 
 ought to do, when he is basely and treacherously be- 
 trayed into the hands of a cold-blooded villain. No 
 more of him, — if Bibbo has fallen, he has provoked the 
 fate he merited ; but as there is still a probability that 
 life may yet be preserved, — he will, if he recovers, em- 
 ploy it to the worst of purposes, and still do us mis- 
 chief: let us, therefore, quickly depart from this peri- 
 lous place, and expedite the remainder of our journey, 
 as speedily as possible, to the camp of St. Julian. For 
 you, brave fellows, who have risked your own lives to 
 save the property of St. Julian, you shall be liberally 
 rewarded for all you have done for a cotiqtieror, — 
 
 m 
 
176 
 
 mighty and fierce as» the lion in arms— but gentle as 
 the uiiweaned lamb in deeds of generosity, truth, and 
 justice. Where are the soldiery, and my vassals ?" 
 
 " All in readiness for immediate departure, so please 
 your honour," answered Macgreggor; "the cattle 
 all harnessed, and the ammunition all secure within 
 the waggons : I gave these orders, and only came 
 hither in search of you. Had I not found you in the 
 cavern, as the maiden directed me, I should, without 
 further delay, have proceeded to the camp, whither, I 
 should then have supposed, you had found means to 
 take your flight ; so, please your honour, 1 will now 
 go, and set the horses once more in motion." 
 
 " Tarry but a moment, and I will accompany you, / 
 brave Macgreggor," cried Sir Walter, now rising to 
 depart; Sir Orville Faulkner, whose observance of 
 silence was more than ever necessary at this critical 
 juncture of affairs, instantly following the example of 
 his protector, in low and whispering accents, bidding 
 the hermit farewell. 
 
 To which Anselmo replied — '' Give me no thanks, 
 tender me no monies. There is corruption in the 
 thought, that I would buy and sell the service I have 
 done you in the perilous hour : for courtesy like this, 
 I am rewarded here far more than any thanks thou 
 canst give me, or any monies thou canst tender unto 
 me! Farewell, my sons I — be of good cheer—place 
 corjfidence in the mighty High One ! he is mightier 
 than monarchs ! So, save you sons, and heaven prosper 
 you on your way." 
 
 "Farewell, holy father," cried Sir Walter, " and 
 p^aqe for evermore dwell with thee !" 
 
 A cordial pressure of the hand was exchanged be- 
 
OR, MARIBTTE MOULINB. 177 
 
 tween Sir Walter and the hermit, ere they finally se- 
 parated, and departed from the abode which, however 
 gloomy and dreary in appearance, had sheltered them 
 for so many successive hours from the outrage and 
 violence that reigned without. 
 
 Macgreggor and Baldy had preceded them some 
 paces, and had arrived to the entrance of the cavern, 
 and found their way as before through the trap-door, 
 some minutes sooner than Sir Walter and his youthful 
 companion : Macgreggor knew full well that the mi- 
 nutes were precious, and that no time was now to be 
 lost— for in looking back to what had taken place in 
 Bibbo*s house was useless, for as it was now broad 
 daylight, it was probable, that travellers would, ere 
 long, call there for refreshment, and finding the state 
 of the family, would give instant alarm in the neigh- 
 bourhood of a murder being committed on the land- 
 lord and the two robbers, whom they had left bleed- 
 ing beside him on the floor ; and, not knowing how 
 grossly they had been injured, would, if they did not 
 quickly make their escape from the sign of the queen 
 and the three crosses, arrest them all in the name of 
 the Emperor Josephus, for the perpetration of a crime 
 so odious to humanity; and bear them off to Vienna to 
 prison : where they would be condemned without 
 mercy, for the murder of wretches, who would have 
 murdered them, if they had not so desperately (in de- 
 fence of their own lives) fuught against them. 
 
 This thought to a brave soldier, and such a daunt- 
 less and intrepid man as Macgreggor, was worse than 
 ten thousand deaths, were it possible that he could 
 suffer so many, in the field of battle ; and he exclaimed 
 to Baldy,- no less brave or intrepid than himself, as 
 
 b8 ' z 
 
Vf8 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 they rapMly descended the flight of steps which led from 
 the chamber which had been occupied by Sir Walter, 
 
 ** By St. Jago 1 if thou dost not move a pace or two 
 bri&ker, we shall be caught in a trap thou little dream- 
 est of. What is thy snail's foot loitering at now ? is 
 the ghost of Bibbo in the corridor, that thou shakest 
 fflad tremblest so, thou silly gander ? let us on to the 
 outward gate, and march before the cavalcade, or be- 
 like, we shall not live to march another day. Seest 
 thou not it is broad day ? and travellers will be jour- 
 neying here, before We can get clear oiF the premises. 
 What art thou gaping at, Baldy ?** 
 
 To which, in tremulous accentSj the soldier re- 
 plied, — 
 
 " As I am a living soul, some otye crossed the cor- 
 ridor this blessed minute, all clothed in white, some- 
 what like the affrighted maid, who vanished from us 
 with such piteous cries, when she beheld me strike the 
 old man down ; she bore a taper in her hand, and a 
 naked sword all bloody at the point ; belike, she means 
 to harm me with her conjurations, and her witcheries, 
 and her devil's spells, for that which I have done to 
 Bibbo; for in good truth, I was always most marvel- 
 lously in fear of a woman, though I was never afraid 
 of a man, for I do look upon a woman to be the very 
 devirs own self, Steevyl" 
 
 " Look upon your fool's head, you silly gander !" 
 uttered Macgreggor, in a menacing tone, and pushing 
 Baldy on before him, with some apprehension that 
 they would at least be frustrated in their attempts to 
 escape from this infernal den of robbers and of mur- 
 derers I " what if it be the maid thou speakest of; 
 thinkest thou, having once preserved our threatened 
 
OR, MARii-rrrR moulinf. 1/9 
 
 lives, she will again expose them to danger H wfiom she 
 hath so generously sought to save, thinkest thou she will 
 now seek to destroy ? — what if thou hast murdered the 
 old man — would he not have murdered us ? and did 
 not the maiden warn us of it ? — and doth she not well 
 know, that he merited the rough usage he met with 
 at our hands, who intended no mercy to us ?" 
 
 '^ But mercy always becometh the brave !" at this 
 moment, as they were just crossing the corridor, re- 
 sponded a voice, in such soft and plaintive accents, 
 that, while it vibrated to the hearts of the soldiers, left 
 them no longer in doubt that it proceeded from the lips 
 of a woman, or that that woman was the one whose 
 voice they had heard before. 
 
 And never had Macgreggor found himself so dis- 
 armed of mortal courage, or stood he so irresolute 
 whether to proceed or tarry in the house of Bibbo 5 
 and while lie stood so, with Baldy close beside him, 
 quivering from head to foot, the same gentle voice, in 
 low murmuring whispers, exclaimed, — 
 
 *^ Begone from the dwelling which thou hast stained 
 with human blood 1 once more Morgiana warns you of 
 the coming hour of danger ! Tell Sir Walter De Ru- 
 then to fly these walls with all convenient speed : if 
 he tarry here some momtMits longer vengeance will 
 pursue him, — the death of the murdered Bibbo will be 
 revenged." 
 
 " I hope you are content with this pleasant hint, 
 friend Baldy," cried Macgreggor, boldly pushing for- 
 w^ard to the outward gate 5 " if not, in the devil's name, 
 stay, and straight prepare for as high a post as that 
 which the burgomaster is elevated to. For my own 
 pai-t, I have no relish for such preferment, — so good 
 
 m 
 
180 THK MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAFR ; 
 
 bye to you, and Sir Walter too : I must e*en look out 
 for safe (juarters : and every man must provide for 
 himself when no man else is likely to provide for him." 
 
 By this time Macgreggor had groped his way fairly 
 out of Bibbo*s house, and Baldy was not long in fol- 
 lowing close to his heels ; and they had marched for- 
 ward with the cavalcade at full speed for more than a 
 quarter of a mile, when they perceived Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen and the supposed Francisco in the rear, and 
 rapidly advancing towards them. 
 
 " Halt, for a moment!" vociferated Macgreggor; 
 and in a few moments Sir Walter greeted him with a 
 shout of victory. 
 
 *^ All's well that ends well, my brave fellows !" ut- 
 tered he ; " we have got clear of that den of robbers, 
 a«d now have nought to fear. As I passed the house 
 of Bibbo methought I heard a dying groan, and my 
 heart misgave me that you had not escaped, but I saw 
 the outward gate open; I lingered not an instant, 
 though pity, at any other moment, would have stayed 
 my speed. Here is brandy — each of you take a drop — 
 I snatched the flaggon that laid in the outer passage 
 as we fled in our haste hither. Take it, brave boys, 
 and let us on without delay ; in a few hours hence, 
 safe in the camp of St. Julian, we shall repose, and 
 smile at danger, treachery, or fear !" 
 
 " But the maiden we have left behind us," cried 
 Macgreggor, " I would, somehow or other, the brave 
 wench were with us ; by St. Jago, she is a fearless 
 one !— a stouter heart I ne'er beheld in petticoats ! — 
 for shf. doth bestride murder and death, as though she 
 were walking in flowery fields and smiling meadows ; 
 yet she hath a voice of pity, so kindly soft and sweet. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 181 
 
 as would call whispering angels down to listen to the 
 music of her tongue." 
 
 *' Why, hast thou seen the maiden ?" eagerly en- 
 quired Sir Walter. 
 
 " No, your honour," uttered Macgreggor, " but 1 
 have heard her — and, by the faith of a soldier, I shall 
 never forget her — as again she bade me w^arn you of 
 your danger in loitering in the dwelling of Bibbo, 
 who she said was murdered ; she spoke in anger, and 
 she spoke in pity, — but the latter feeling seemed most 
 to sway her heart and prompt her tongue." 
 
 " Indeed she merits thanks and gratitude, beyond 
 all human praise," cried Sir Walter. ^' Brave wench ! 
 would that she had journeyed along with us to the 
 camp of St. Julian." 
 
 " And, truly, she were a wife for a soldier," cried 
 Macgreggor, setting fresh spurs to the horses, that 
 now proceeded down the declivity of a steep hill with 
 the utmost velocity; but no answer was returned to 
 his observation. Sir Walter preserved for many mi- 
 nutes a gravity in which he was but little accustomed 
 to indulge, till they reached, in silence, a quiet and 
 sequestered hamlet, on the very borders of the camp 
 of St. Julian. 
 
 " We will tarry here for a few moments, and give 
 our cattle food and water," cried Sir Walter ; *^ but 
 for ourselves we will remain here while they are feed- 
 ing : I have had enough of the sign of the queen and 
 the three crosses, to deter me from ever taking up my 
 quarters in a house open for the accommodation of 
 travellers again as long as I live." 
 
 To which Macgreggor immediately replied, — 
 
 " Nay, your honour, if you have a mind to stop here 
 
182 THK MYSTKRIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 a bit, there is no danger like that from which we have 
 escaped ; the inhabitants of this hamlet are so small in 
 number, and so docile and peaceable, that I do think 
 we might fire on them without a man among themotfer- 
 ing the slightest resistance. They are merely, for the 
 «iost part, poor, industrious, labouring piople, whose 
 sole subsistence is by gathering turf from the forest, and 
 cutting down wood, which they collect in large quanti- 
 ties, and carry to market on a certain day 5 the produce 
 of which, though little, makes them live happy, con- 
 tented, and peaceable with each other." 
 
 " And what more doth man require, if he is truly 
 wise?*' exclaimed Sir Walter. ^' What greater proof 
 of a man's wisdom, than to be perfectly content with 
 his condition, however mean and lowly ? Happiness doth 
 not consist in that which is external, but that which 
 reigneth in our own breasts ; and it is not to be pro- 
 duced by circumstances or situations, although they 
 may be free from guilt. Content is the sole source of 
 our being, and doth alone constitute man's greatest 
 happiness here below; norean there be .any happiness, 
 where content doth not form a part of our disposition ; 
 riches cannot purchase it ; nor poverty, however keen 
 and piercing, destroy it existence. Of how many hours 
 of sweet luxuiy, of transport the most exquisite and 
 lasting, doth the repining, murmuring, discontented 
 man deprive himself! also the men of wealth, who heap 
 up their bags of shining ore, kept from the owners 
 thereof, to their hnrt — or who waste their riches and 
 their hours in empty pageantry and childish glitter'— 
 in pomp and routs, and ostentatjows parties of idle and 
 giddy dissipation 5 wtiile they neglect that sweetest of 
 all human blessings beiow— bestowed by healing the 
 
OR, MARlETlii MOVJ-Isr. 183 
 
 broken-hearted, and giving liberty to tiie woru-out 
 captive — by once more lighting up gladness in tlie 
 eye of despondence, and by imparting to the breast of 
 long afflicted and dejected worth, comfort and conso- 
 lation ! These, and these alone, are the joys and real 
 sources of contentment, and from whence all blessings 
 flow. Why, 1, who am a soldier, and have felt all the 
 immortal glories of wars, — I, who have reared a death- 
 less fame in shining arms, would gladly yield me to a 
 peasant's homely life, in some sequestered, quiet, 
 peaceful dwelling — thtre to end the residue of my 
 days, in the calm evening of man's weary pilgrimage 
 — yes, gladly would I resign tine pomps and pleasures, 
 and the courtly state, to retire to the humble vale of 
 peace and happiness; in friendship w^th all mankind, 
 save those only w^ho are at war with virtue : but we 
 do not chalk the path of life through which we are 
 destined to wander, therefore, I will e'en content me 
 with the life of a rough soldier, and smile at the ca- 
 price and frowns of fortune, list she how she may." 
 
 The cavalcade now halted for a few moments by 
 the road-side, near to which was a c«/ee, the only 
 one that the hamlet could boast of — and which was 
 no mean one-^and usually resorted to by travellers of 
 all distinctions passing through the country. 
 
 " Will your honour venture to take some refresh- 
 ment in the cafeeV cried Macgreggor, dismounting 
 from his horse, '•' tliey give good entertainment, and 
 are quiet, orderly people, and have a good name w^ith 
 us soldiery." 
 
 Sir Walter smiled at the hesitation with which IMac- 
 greggor subjoined this last observation, and replied : — 
 
 " So was the landlord of the queen and the three 
 
184 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIB ; 
 
 crosses, a quiet, civil, orderly sort of a personage, — 
 was not he, Macgreggor ? and no house on the road 
 could better entertain its guests : yet, we found hiin 
 in good sooth, too civil by one half ! — however, from 
 your report, I care not if I taste a glass of sherbet, 
 while we are tarrying here, provided that the soldiery 
 keep watch on the outside of the door, while the cattle 
 are feeding.'* 
 
 *' It shall be ordered so," cried Macgreggor, assist- 
 ing Sir Walter to dismount, along with his silent com 
 panion, whose little disposition to enter into social 
 discourse with any one was now remarked by Mac- 
 greggor with some involuntary symptoms of surprise, 
 not unmixed with curiosity. He had been told by the 
 soldiers in the guard-room, that one of the vassals 
 who had attended Sir Walter to the castle of St. Clair, 
 was one of the merriest souls alive, and that he had 
 kept them in one continued roar of laughter ever since 
 he had been there, by relating humourous tales, and 
 singing songs of jovial glee — that he was called Fran- 
 cisco, and this was he; but Macgreggor marvelled 
 that he had never spoken a sentence since he had de- 
 parted from the castle, and that if he was so jovial and 
 pleasant a fellow, that he would naturally have exhi- 
 bited some signs of it during the progress of their jour- 
 ney to the camp of St. Julian, where there w^ere so many 
 opportunities of discoursing, without reserve, with 
 each other : but this young soldier had kept up a per- 
 petual silence, shunning conversation, rather than 
 seeming to invite it ; and that even at the house of 
 Bibbo, when the glass was circulating so freely, and 
 went briskly round, that this Francisco neither joined 
 in the hilarity of the passing moment, nor yet drank 
 
OR, MARIKTTE MOULINE. 185 
 
 with spirit, or eat with any apparent satisfaction ; and 
 that when he laid down on the mat, after they had sup- 
 ped, he had no appearance of a man having drank to 
 the excess of total insensibility. These were the private 
 thoughts of Macgreggor on the conduct of the sup- 
 posed Francisco, but he communicated these thoughts 
 to no one else beside — determined to watch him more 
 closely than he had hitherto yet done, whenever he 
 should have an opportunity for so doing. 
 
 But for this, there was but little chance, as he fol- 
 lowed in the rear with Sir Walter, and always kept 
 close up to him whenever they halted or happened to 
 alight, as in the present case, when they stopped at 
 the cafee ; where, at last, Sir Walter was prevailed 
 on by Macgreggor to call and take some refreshment, 
 ere they proceeded on the remainder of their journey, 
 the appearance of which was certainly as inviting as 
 the sign of the queen and the three crosses had been 
 dreary and desolate ; for, seated on a bench near the 
 entrance of the door, over which hung some luxuriant 
 vines, richly laden with their delicious fruit, sat the 
 host, regaling himself with a pipe and a jug of nut- 
 brown ale ; he had a merry round face, and one un- 
 varying expression marked his countenance, and that 
 was good nature; and while one hand was employed 
 in patting the head of a little spaniel that lay fondling 
 at his feet, the other grasped his favourite pipe, which 
 he seetned to enjoy at every whiff with redoubled [)lea- 
 sure ; no care sat upon his brow, which was fair, rpd- 
 dy, and open ; he had small eyes, but blue, and although 
 they did not sparkle like stars in the azure sky, yet 
 they shone with sensibility and harmony of mind. with- 
 in himself, and peace with all beside ! 
 
 c^ 2 a 
 
1 8i5 : VHE Al ySTK R I KS OF ST. C L A 1 11 ; 
 
 'And; Jaei-e he had fallen into the most pleasing 
 reverie, as he whiffed his tobacco, and caressed the 
 faithful animal that was retm-ning the attention that 
 his kind master was bestowing in silent gratitude, but 
 far more eloquent and sincere than that which man 
 evinceth to mortal race ; for here was no hypocrisy, 
 here was no self-interest, to produce affection ! it was 
 nature — holy nature, pure and unrefined ! And why 
 should not sensibility be equally inherent in an animal, 
 as in man? and what is man, with all his boasted 
 wisdom but an animal, when he is divested of the 
 feelings of humanity — when he injures and oppresses 
 his fellow creatures to the last extent of mortal power? 
 — when, forgetful of all ti<;s of gratitude, of duty, of 
 affection to his kindred race, what is he superior to 
 the brutes of the field ? No, he is then far below them , 
 for he has degraded himself beyond what brutes would 
 d© — for they are susceptible, and are faithful to the 
 feelings of nature ! But to proceed. 
 
 The host of the cuf^e did not pc^rceive that strangers 
 were approaching to his dwelling, till they had fairly 
 entered the little bower wherein he was sitting with his 
 dog and his pipe ; and, on raising his eyes, they rest7 
 ed immediately on the warlike figure of Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen, and the young soldier that stood beside him, 
 Macgreggor and Baldy being likewise in the rear; 
 and the first salutation of the merry host was '' Good 
 morninjg to you, gentlemen ! I pray you pardon my 
 rough usage of you, that I had not the sagacity to be- 
 hold my guests before they were close at my elbow ; 
 but the truth is, I am the happiest man living, this 
 veiy precious day, and I do not envy kings sitting upon 
 their thrones 5 and what do you think, your honour, 
 
OR, MARIBTTB MOULINE. 187 
 
 has made me so ? I had a daughter, (and, blessed be 
 the almighty Giver bf all good gifts, I have a daughter 
 still,) she is my only child, and she hath this morning 
 brought forth a chopping boy, and made me a grand- 
 father, for the first time in my life. Now, sirs, this 
 is one cause of my joy, because my girl was the darling 
 of my old age, and the pride of my heart ; there was 
 ne'er such a girl in the village as my little, smiling, 
 pretty Rosette ; but the best of all, sirtJ, she was a 
 good girl, and never gave me the heart-ache ever since 
 the day she was born ! — but she did this morning, 
 though — 1 had forgot that — she made my heart ache 
 till the boy was born. Save you, sirs, what will you 
 please to have in the house of Michael ? walk in, gen- 
 tlemen, and I will serve you quickly !" 
 
 There was an air of so much frankness and good 
 humour iathe countenance of the merry host, and so 
 unsophisticated were his manners, that Sir Walter no 
 longer hesitated to enter his abode, and to partake of 
 such refreshments as were immediately prepared : and 
 on his entrance he informed him whither he was jour- 
 neying, and in whose service he was employed; but 
 no sooner had Sir Walter De Ruthen pronounced the 
 name of St. Julian, than his merry host capered about 
 the room, with demonstrations of the most lively and 
 extravagant joy. 
 
 *' St. Julian !" uttered he, " I pray you, sirs, par- 
 don me, that I did not at first pay you the homage due 
 to the followers of the great St. Julian. St. Julian! 
 my heart leaps with gratitude and swells with rapture 
 at his name ! but for St. Julian, you had not beheld niR 
 the happy father, and the happy grandfather you now 
 see I He protected mp In the w.u's against the malice 
 
188 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAiR; 
 
 of the Emperor Josephus, who would have imprisoned 
 me, and kept me in exile and banishment from my wife 
 and child for six long years : he released me, gave me 
 money to return to my native village, and restored me 
 to the wife of my bosom, and the child of my heart. 
 When we parted, his last farewell was thus : — 
 
 " * Michael, in return for the service I have rendered 
 to you, when times go well with you, forget me not ; and 
 should St. Julian fall in the midst of his enemies, be 
 not one that will reproach my memory, or say that St. 
 Julian merited his fate. I never yet found gratitude 
 seated in the breast of mortal man ; be thou the first 
 and only example to prove to the contrary. Farewell ! 
 remember St. Julian 1' 
 
 " Sirs, and think you that I have not remembered 
 •him ? look at my growing meadows, and my plenteous 
 granaries all filled with corn 3 my fields all filled with 
 cattle — they were so, but they are not so now, nor do 
 I regret their loss, or the purposes to which they have 
 been applied ; for I have crept them — I have drained 
 them all to serve the man who served me ! The sol- 
 diers, the brave fellows who fought for St. Julian, must 
 needs have perished. Their sufferings were reported 
 to me by a stranger from the camp ; I did not hear of 
 them unmoved — I unlocked my little stores — I killed 
 my cattle — I thrashed my corn, and converted it into 
 flour — and, with a joy too great for utterance, I sup- 
 plied the wants and sufferings of my noble master with 
 all that I could spare from the wants of my own family, 
 and those wants were but few. 1 have still enough ; 
 and what does a moderate and contented man require 
 more ?" 
 
 The astonishment and wonder of Sir Walter, while 
 
OR, MARIETTK MOULINE. 189 
 
 he listened to this account of the honest host, was so 
 great, as almost to deprive him of the power of utter- 
 ance ; it was an instance of gratitude and generosity 
 that stood unequalled; and the fii*st resolve he made 
 in his own mind, before he sat do'wn'to partake of any 
 refreshments that were placed before him, was to leave 
 a sum of money, unseen, in the house of the generous 
 host, adequate to the loss he had sustained by his 
 friendship and humanity. 
 
 And, thus resolved, he sat down with Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, to a comfortable repast, in which good hu*- 
 mbur'aiid the cheering smile of hospitality formed the 
 principal and the sw^test -iagr^dient. 
 
 'Michacrs family, "with the exception of his absent 
 daughter, consisted but of twb personages — bis wifq, 
 a heat, merry, fond, cleanly, wofnan, and a young 
 damsel, pretty and modest, who sefVed in the capa- 
 city of a servant^; those who AV'cre in attendance in the 
 cafee^ were persons -wholly employed to wait upon the 
 ti^avellera, but had*ao familiar intercourse with the 
 family. 
 
 Thtas was sobriety and decorum, so necessary in a 
 hmise 6f public entertainment, preserved with strict- 
 ness and'proper'disciplitie,'ai!id no improper liberties 
 taken or received with impunity,' asit is falsely repre- 
 senteti is the case foi't^ese countries. 
 
 'But dt'is a!n observatio-n as trnjusti-as-it is untrue, aiffl 
 it would be well with' our houses of .public resort and 
 'entertainment in England, could they boast of half the 
 Idecency and regularity which is preserved in countries 
 which their idle 'and- erroneous 'reports have so fre- 
 quently attempted to prejudice straiKgers and travel- 
 lers against 5 to gratify an inordinate share .x)f vanity 
 
190 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR, 
 
 and self-conceit, and to lead the profoundly ignorant 
 into error and inexperience greater than they were 
 before. 
 
 Sir Walter, while taking his repast, wished to learn 
 of Michael how lately he had rendered this kind assist- 
 ance to St. Julian, and what state the soldiery were 
 in at present : informing him, at the same instant, of 
 the errand he had gone upon to the castle of St. 
 Clair, and how he had succeeded with Lady Marga- 
 ret Albino ; at which Michael expressed the most un- 
 bounded transports, and running to the outward gates 
 beheld, by the road-side, the waggons loaded with 
 the ammunition and the stores, which would so abun- 
 dantly relieve the wants of the suffering soldiery. He 
 then filled flaggons of the best ale he had in his house, 
 and directed it to be given to the men, with a portion 
 of bread and milk-cheese ; desiring that they would 
 drink to the health of the new-born stranger, who had 
 that morning made him a grandfather. 
 
 This wish was no sooner expressed than done by the 
 grateful and gratified soldiery, who, in loud and reite- 
 rated huzzas, drank to the health, long life, and hap- 
 piness of the mother of the new-born little bantling 
 who had so gladdened the heart and exhilarated the 
 spirits of honest Michael. 
 
 Nor were Sir Walter De Ruthen, or Sir Orville 
 Faulkner insensible to the scenes around them 5 and, 
 in a low whisper, the latter exclaimed-— 
 
 " How different, sir, is the landlord of this cafee^ to 
 the one we encountered at the sign of the queen and 
 the three crosses, where gam and lucre was the only 
 aim that directed the civilities that were paid to us j 
 the attentions of Bibbo were directed at our purse. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 191 
 
 while these of honest Michael are directed at our 
 hearts ; although they are both men of business, and 
 their calling is the same." 
 
 " Your remark is just, my young friend ;" cried 
 Sir Walter, " but it is invariably so in all professions, 
 and in all active situations in worldly affairs ; which 
 incontestably proves, that it is not the calling of a man^ 
 w^hatevcr it be, that influences him to do right or 
 wrong, but his principles and the natural bent of his 
 disposition. Profession has nothing to do with a man*s 
 heart ; for I have known men act honestly in the same 
 capacity and following the same pursuits where another 
 has turned out a rogue, and not worthy of being trust- 
 ed ; but good principles can seldom or ever be per- 
 verted, when once they are firmly established, and 
 taken root in an ingenuous and really virtuous mind : 
 they may err, (for we are the children of error from our 
 birth,) but they will not long remain insensible of their 
 folly, nor deaf to the warning voice that bids them sue 
 for pardon, and hope for forgiveness through repent- 
 ance and acknowledgment of their past otfences." 
 
 iji 
 
102 
 
 ruv. MVSTFKIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 ** But, I remember, when the fight was done. 
 When 1 was dry with rage and extreme toil. 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon ray sword,— 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly drest ; 
 Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reaped 
 Shewed like a stubble-land at harvest-home • 
 He was perfumed like a milliner : 
 And, 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held 
 A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon. 
 He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; 
 Who, th^ewith angry, when it next came there. 
 Took it in snuff : and still he smiled, and talked ; 
 And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse. 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility !" 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HONEST jXlicbael, who had set before his guest 
 his choicest fruits and viands, felt highly gratified at 
 the commendations bestowed upon his attention and 
 civility by the gallant warrior, and urged him when 
 he was preparing to take his departure from the cafee, 
 to accept of a few baskets of fresh grapes and figs, 
 with which his vineyards so luxuriantly abounded, as 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOUL1NE. 193 
 
 a small mark of his continued and unabated respect 
 for St. Julian. ' 
 
 But Sir Walter hesitated at first to take the j)rof- 
 fered g'lk, which Michael observing, ventured to ex- 
 claim, — 
 
 " Wherefore, sir, would you deprive me of so much 
 pleasure ?" 
 
 To which, Sir Walter gravely replied, although 
 admiration at the conduct of the generous host was 
 perceptible in every turn o f his countenance, — 
 
 " Because, my good fellow, it is always painful to 
 my feelings to encroach upon good-nature ; and 1 
 would much rather confer benefits on a heart so 
 truly generous than receive any, though in the name of 
 the great St. Julian. If 1 consent to take your grapes 
 and your figs, it will only be on one condition.** 
 
 " And what may that be, please your honour,*' de- 
 manded Michael. 
 
 " That you will receive monies for their value,'* an- 
 swered Sir Walter ; " you have already exhausted 
 your little stores for the relief of St. Julian ; you have 
 generously contributed, by the most active and lauda- 
 ble exertion, and zealous gratitude, to stretch forth a 
 helping hand to save the sinking soldiery from perish- 
 iHg ; and, reckless of the wants of your own family, 
 have supplied with necessary food the wants of your 
 fellow-men, without calculating on the profits you 
 would gain by it, or whether for such supplies you 
 would ever be remunerated : ai^, I must tell you, 
 without departing from truth, (for.I do not flatter men) 
 honest Michael, that your conduct towards St. Julian 
 far exceeds praise, and merits a reward beyond what 
 he can give." 
 
 9 2 b 
 
194 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 To this warm, and certainly merited eulogium, the 
 sun- burnt cheek of Michael was suffused with modest 
 bashfulness, (for it is possible for bashfulness to exist 
 without any modesty at all) ; yet Michael actually 
 blushed a roseate hue when he ingenuously replied, — 
 
 '* Sir, 1 have done no more than my duty, and you 
 are pleased to overate ray services : to the great St. 
 Julian I owed my life and liberty ; and for the latter, 
 is there aught that a man can do too much ? — for this 
 blessing of all blessings — this treasure of all treasures — 
 this wealth beyond all boundaries of wealth ? possess- 
 ing which, though poverty's keenest blast blow wildly 
 and rudely round our heads, still man is blest—he is 
 free ! and freedom is a throne on which the God of 
 nature sits triumphant I — superior to regal pomp, to 
 regal power, or courtly state and magnificence ! 
 Freedom ! methinks the blooming healthful boy was 
 born of the breeze, and nursed by the mountain air — 
 braced by exercise, and preserved in health by virtue ! 
 it is the hardy peasant's glory, and the good man's 
 boast! blow high, blow low, it is the sweet hour of 
 human life in all its stages ; for what is life without 
 liberty, your honour ?" 
 
 To which. Sir Walter, actually astonished and con- 
 founded at the rationality, and even profundity of 
 thought with which even this honest and simple ub- 
 sopliisticated son of nature was gifted, exclaimed, — 
 
 *' By my sword and buckler ! hadst thou been Plato 
 or Cicero thou couldst not have argued more wisely, 
 or naturally, friend^ Michael. Liberty is the soul ol 
 man 1 and while he can clasp this animated goddess 
 securely within his arms, he smiles at fortune's malice 
 and defies the world But to the point,— how long is 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 195 
 
 it since you contributed to the sufferings of the soldi- 
 ery in St. Julian's camp, who naust perforce have 
 perished had they had none at all ; for, truly, the Lady 
 Margaret Albino took time in her deliberation whe- 
 ther she would grant the petition of St. Julian or not ; 
 and my tarrying there beneath her battlements while 
 she consulted with her ghostly confessor, the pious 
 Cardinal Benvolio, hath been attended with grievous 
 delay, and disappointment to St. Julian ; furthermore, 
 we have met with crosses on our way, and both mur- 
 der and treachery have been intended us ; by despe- 
 rate resistance only have we found means to escape with 
 our lives. The robbers of the Black Forest, in col- 
 league with the atrocious landlord of the queen and 
 the three crosses, where we sojourned awhile for rest 
 and refreshment, formed a conspiracy against us, and 
 would have robbed and plundered us of all our property 
 in the dead of night, had not a kind maiden discovered 
 and warned us of their treachery. Bibbo Gracio is 
 he called ; perhaps, thou knowest or hast heard of the 
 atrocious knave ?'* 
 
 To which, Michael, who had listened with profound 
 dismay and astonishment at this account, replied, — 
 
 " By name only, your honour, am I acquainted with 
 the man you speak of; I have seen him at the neigh- 
 bouring carnivals, and feasts and fairs that have been 
 held in the adjacent villages, but, truly, I never felt 
 any disposition to converse with him, for his company 
 and my company did never holtl their horses* heads 
 together; he was quarrelsome, and I was peaceable; 
 moreover, Bibbo Gracio was a man fond of besotting 
 himself, and when he besotted himself, he became a 
 beast ; so I ever shunned him and tbe burgomasters, 
 
106 THE ]\1VSTER1ES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 witb whom he associated ; for I had the pride to think 
 that, although I had not so much of the shining ore in 
 my purse as they had, yet that I carried a lighter heart 
 about me, and an easier conscience, for I have heard 
 strange things of this Bibbo Gracio ; and strange 
 company has been seen at his cafSe, in the time of the 
 carnivals ; but 1 never heeded any of the passing tales 
 that were rumoured about him, because, as I said, it 
 doth not concern me to busy myself with my neigh- 
 bour's affairs ; I have enough of my own to employ 
 me, and that is quite sufficient." 
 
 " And would that every man would act so wisely 
 and so discreetly," cried Sir Walter, better pleased 
 than ever with the manners and disposition of his plea- 
 sant host ; " would that every man would always find 
 time to mind his own business ; there would not be 
 so many politicians and so many rogues as there now 
 are, intermeddling with what they call the affairs of 
 the nation ; of which, when summed up to all, they 
 know nothing that comes within the probability of 
 truth ; but are most profoundly ignorant of the state of 
 the nation, as they are totally divested of materials to 
 support an argument or contradict the legality of state 
 proceedings, or ministerial subjects." 
 
 Sir Orville Faulkner had now stepped out to the door 
 of the cafee, in order to give some directions, with 
 which he was charged by his protector, to Steevy Mac- 
 greggor to hold the men and the waggons in readiness 
 to pursue their route without delay, and Sir Walter and 
 Michael were left together, when, after a thoughtful 
 pause in which some symptoms of curiosity as well as 
 anxiety seemed to be alternately blended, Sir Walter 
 demanded to know of Midiael if he knew aught 9i 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 197 
 
 a young damsel who resided with Bibbo Gracio, at the 
 sign of the queen and the three crosses, and who pass- 
 ed for his niece ? 
 
 " But I will not easily credit the assertion,'' added 
 the warrior ; " or that a maiden so seemingly virtuous 
 can claim any kindred tie with so base a wretch. Dost 
 thou know the maiden I speak of ?'' again repeated 
 Sir Walter, in a low Yoice : " she is called Morgiana, 
 and from the report of my vassals, is fair and beautiful, 
 as certain I am that the maid is heroic, wise, and ge- 
 nerous. I would not be heard enquiring about her : 
 answer me before my vassal returns hither. Dost thou 
 know this reported niece of Bibbo Gracio ?'' 
 
 " Know Morgiana, sir !" uttered Michael, " why all 
 the country round about speak of her beauty and her 
 praise ! she is the wonder and the admiration of all the 
 neighbouring hamlets, because she is gifted with a wit 
 that far surpasseth her age : her mother was Gracious 
 sister, siire enough ; but she had neither the beauty nor 
 the sweetness of the little orphan that she left behind 
 her ; for the mother of Morgiana died in child-bed, 
 your honour, in a very mysterious manner, as the story 
 goes, at the house of her brother Bibbo Gracio; and 
 Morgiana was left in the care of her uncle, having no 
 other friend on earth to protect lier helpless ini'ancy but 
 him : and they do say that he treats her barbarously, 
 and but for one circumstance, would wholly l;;ive aban- 
 doned her to the mercy of a wide world. She has a god- 
 father, it appears, a pious, holy and devout man, who 
 formerly possessed some property in this land, and 
 took a fancy to the child when she was only seven years 
 old ; and standing sponsor for her, (for till that time 
 the child was never christened) Bibbo stands in awe of 
 
196 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR 
 
 him, because they say he is inspired with the art of divi- 
 nation, and can deal aught, of good or evil, to all those 
 whom he may chance to like or dislike. Of late, how- 
 ever, he hath suddenly disappeared, taking with him 
 all his riches, which the avaricious Bibbo had long 
 greedily imagined would have been bestowed on his 
 little favourite Morgiana, who was his god-daughter ; 
 but finding that Anselmo had departed without leaving 
 a single soiis behind him for his niece, he revenged 
 his disappointed hopes on the poor orphan maid com- 
 mitted to his charge with redoubled severity, and at 
 length obliged her to act in the capacity of a servant to 
 wait on travellers in his cqfee. 
 
 But this was no disadvantage to Morgiana, whose 
 loveliness and modesty of deportment and gentle man- 
 ners gained her the applause of all who stopped at 
 the sign of the queen and the three crosses ; and Bibbo 
 Gracio now found that it was his interest to treat her 
 more kindly than he had hitherto done, fearful of the 
 reproaches that would be cast upon him, as being so 
 near a relative of the pretty maiden, whose beauty and 
 sweetness of disposition attracted all eyes and hearts 
 towards her : so at times of carnivals, or public feasts 
 and holidays, he does not use her roughly ; but I have 
 a shrewd guess he doth not trouble her with much af- 
 fection, when there is no looker-on of his harsh and un- 
 natural conduct. I saw the maiden once on a carnival 
 day, and, truly, report said not falsely of the beauty 
 that nature has gifted her with, for never did my eyes 
 behold a finer creature : she hath the eye of an eagle, 
 your honour — dark and piercing — with the breast of 
 the swan ! then, there is something noble in her mien 
 as though she were born to be a queen ; her cheek is 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 199 
 
 delicate, too, and so unlike her humble station, you 
 would think she were a lady, so transparent is its 
 whiteness. She was not drest so finely as the rest of 
 the maidens, but her attire did seem the best and most 
 becoming of them all : she had a few simple flowers in 
 her raven tresses, and one of them was a rose newly 
 gathered ; but ne'er that rose could vie with Morgi- 
 ana's blooming cheek, nor the sparkling dew that glit- 
 tered on its leaves, was like the starry light of Morgi- 
 ana*8 eyes !" 
 
 " It were a pity that a maid so fair, and a maid so 
 kind, should be the sport of fortune's cruel spite," 
 uttered Sir Walter, who had listened with no small at- 
 tention as well as interest to this description of Bibbo*s 
 niece ; and, recollecting the deep services she had ren- 
 dered to him and his companions, he energetically 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Would, I had the power to exalt the maiden to a 
 station, in which the beauty and the virtue you de- 
 scribe, would more transcendantly shine — a bright ex- 
 ample and a pattern to all womankind !— and truly do 
 I owe her gratitude, beyond the wealth of worlds to 
 pay." 
 
 " Ah ! my good lord ! and cannot you do that ?— 
 from the house of her unnatural uncle, cannot you re- 
 move the maid ?" uttered Michael with all the honest 
 warmth that a man feels, (we mean a truly honest and 
 disinterested man) for a helpless and a virtuous female, 
 divested of the idea that her youth and beauty was any 
 additional claim to his friendship and compassion. 
 *' Yes, surely your honour can do that ?'' more warm- 
 ly added Michael, " I would do it, were the poor girl 
 once to throw herself on my protection ; yes, this 
 
200 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. OLAIR ; 
 
 humble roof sliould shelter her, while I had the means 
 to provide for her. 1 would be a father to her,---my 
 old dame would be a mother to her, for she is as kind 
 a hearted soul as ever breathed the breath of life, — and 
 my Rosette— my dear little Rosette — when she gets 
 round again, would be a sister to her! she would 
 nurse the baby, and we should be all one family, uni- 
 ted in love and generous friendship ; and what if I 
 should feel myself a little the worse for adding to my 
 household cares one that was not of ray own kindred ? 
 heaven would never desert me, because Lhad befriend- 
 ed a poor orphan maid, and given her a shelter from 
 the storm.'* 
 
 Sir Walter, penetrated to the quick by the artless 
 and generous warmth which this son of nature and of 
 feeling displayed, felt his eyes humid with tears ; and 
 felt also that if he could do thus for one to whom he 
 owed no sense of obligation, what must he feel, or 
 what ought he to feel, who was indebted to her for life 
 and liberty ? There was no recompense too great, to 
 reward the lovely, generous, and heroic maid, for the 
 great service she had rendered to him and St. Julian ; 
 for the preservation pf his property, which else had 
 become the sacrifice of lawless robbers and base assas- 
 sins ! What, then, did not St. Julian owe to the courage 
 and the humanity of this virtuous maiden ? and not 
 alone St, Julian, — but himself, his vassals, and all the 
 soldiery belonging to the service of the Lady Marga- 
 ret Albino ? who had probably bee;) dead men, with- 
 out her timely warning of the attack that was intended 
 to surprize them by an unexpected and sudden encoun- 
 ter, and thus prevent the means and possibility of all 
 self-defence : what then did they not owe to this oou- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 201 
 
 rageous ^d resolute fair one, whc; -eckless of her own 
 delicate situation, under the roof of that unkindly re- 
 lative, who, if he knew that she had frustrated the ac- 
 complishment of his wicked designs and murderous 
 attempts on the lives of the soldiery, would instigate 
 him, on a discovery of her having preserved them from 
 the cruel rage of the fell monsters, to treat her with 
 the most barbarous outrage and cruelty ; and did uot 
 honour — did not justice — did not gratitude to a helpless 
 and unfortunate female, whisper to him, that he ought 
 not to leave her exposed to such a fate ? and after a 
 serious pause, he exclaimed, — 
 
 *' Michael, your account of Bibbo's niece, hath 
 much distressed, and, I own, hath greatly moved my 
 heart, to offer her the protection of a rough soldier ; 
 but she is young and beautiful, and were I to take her 
 to the camp of St. Julian, I know not what perils may 
 surround her there, amidst a set of men who have 
 so long been absent from the softer sex. St. Julian 
 would not harm her ; his affection standeth so firm 
 in another quarter, that a Venus de Medicis, just ris- 
 ing from the sea, with all the blaze of charms about 
 her beauteous form that so dazzleth mankind, would 
 not, in my mind, kindle one spark in St. Julian's breast 
 of unhallowed passion towards her. He loves, — but 
 love, with St. Julian, is a holy fire — lasting and pure ! 
 it is not to be extinguished, though by absence, cruelty, 
 or cold neglect, or proud disdain : nor will the devo- 
 ted love he feels for one only object, e'er be lighted 
 with a newer flame. Morgiana, therefore, with St. 
 Julian would be safe ; but we have men in our camp, 
 not so nice or insensate to the charms of female beautj, 
 or so honourable and deHcate in the affairs of woinen •■, 
 9 2 c 
 
202 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR; 
 
 although they are gallant warriors in the field, they 
 are fond and gentle as amorous doves at home, when 
 beauty is the incitement to their passions. What, then, 
 should I do with a maid so fair in a camp so rude ? 
 how should 1 preserve her from attacks so injurious to 
 her peace and to her honour ?'* 
 
 To which, Michael gravely replied, — 
 
 " There is but one way, with all due submission to 
 your honour's opinion, of preserving a virtuous and 
 delicate woman from the attacks that the licentious li- 
 bertine would make on her reputation, and that is a 
 plain one." 
 
 " And what is that, honest Michael ?*' demanded 
 Sir Walter, with a smile. 
 
 " Cannot your honour form a notion ?" answered 
 Michael, somewhat slyly. 
 
 " Yes, many !*' cried Sir Walter, *' but the notion 
 I form, and that which you have formed, may be wide- 
 ly diflferent." 
 
 " I do not think so, your honour," responded Mi- 
 chael ; " my notions are plain enough, and what every 
 man may understand, unless he has a mind to say 
 downright, that he does not choose to do it. There 
 Is the road to matrimony, to keep every young and 
 virtuous female clean out of the shot of danger ; and 1 
 was thinking, that if Morgiana- — >" 
 
 Sir Walter reddened ; but it was by no means with 
 an expression of anger towards Michael, for the 'senti- 
 ment he had conveyed ; but, still he was silent, and a 
 little embarrassed. At length, recovering his confu- 
 sion, he exclaimed, — 
 
 ** My vassal approaches ; but one word more, 
 honest Michael, respecting the maiden of whom thou 
 
OR, MAftlETTE MOULINE. 203 
 
 speakest so highly : who and what was her father ?** 
 
 " Nay, my good lord, that part of the story remains 
 in utter darkness," answered Michael ; " for to this 
 day no one knows who was the father of Morgiana, — 
 it was ne'er revealed even to Bibbo on the dying bed 
 of her mother : but they do say, from the fondness 
 that father Anselmo evinced for the child, that he can 
 tell something about it ; this however was mere fancy, 
 as Anselmo came to sojourn in this land many years 
 before the birth of Morgiana : yet, what will not the 
 world say ?'* 
 
 " It will say any thing but truth !" cried Sir Walter, 
 " it will suggest any thing but virtue : it is a lying 
 cheat — a wolf in sheep's cloathing ; but I care not a 
 jot what it says, if I like the maiden. Hark'e, Michael, 
 if perchance I see the maid, and she liketh me, I will 
 e'en make her a soldier^s wife, and that will put an ex- 
 tinguisher on the mouths of babbling, prating fools, 
 about the maiden's history : for me, it is enough to 
 know that she be virtuous and discreet ; for think you, 
 that while gazing on the beauty of an opening flower, 
 that I should think it less fair because planted by the 
 hand of a peasant ? No, Michael ! to fools of the world's 
 growth I leave such idle prejudices ! I am above 
 them." 
 
 The entrance of Sir Orville Faulkner, informing his 
 protector that all was now in readiness for their iaime- 
 diate departure, put an end to the conversation. 
 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen now prepared to depart, and, 
 while buckling his sword in his belt, Michael had slyly 
 slipped out with the baskets of fruit, that he intended 
 as a present for St. Julian, and had put them in charge 
 
204 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 of Macgreg-gor, ere he was aware of it : in the mean- 
 while, during his absence, Sir Walter, under the pre- 
 tence of asking some trifling questions of Michael's 
 pleasant old dame, had obliged her to accept of a sum 
 of money, which she was not to inform her husband of 
 till they had quitted tlie cafke ; — and thus they parted, 
 with mutual good wishes, and the blessings of two ho- 
 nest and virtuous hearts whom he had made happy, to 
 bear him company. They pursued their destined 
 route at this time, without encountering any further 
 obstacle on the way, and, with all possible expedition, 
 arrived at the extremity of that mountainous part of 
 the country which led to the borders of the great St. 
 •Julian's camp ; and where, on every side, his colours 
 were flying, and his tents were pitched : and never had 
 mountain scenery, contrasted with the martial imple- 
 ments of war, produced so striking, novel, and grand 
 appearance to the eye of the beholder, as, advancing to 
 the brow of one of the loftiest hills, the shining arms 
 of the soldiery, stationed on duty by their gallant com- 
 mander, in every direction glittered in the rays of a 
 bright beaming sun, and now shone full upon them. 
 
 "What a glorious sight is there,'' exclaimed Sir 
 Walter, pointing out several objects, in a low whisper 
 o Sir Orville, who was close to his horses' head ; 
 " dost thou not behold, boy ? dost thou not behold from 
 afar yon shining arms, and the martial colours flying ? 
 dost thou not hear the shrill -toned trumpet and the 
 big hollow drum resounding from each tent ? and doth 
 not thy heart beat with tumultuous longings to behold 
 the youthful conqueror, whose mighty name in arms 
 hath filled with envy and astonishment even the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 205 
 
 mightier Josephus ? Say 1 does not thy young heart 
 pant to hehohl St. Julian ?" 
 
 " It does ! it does ! great sir," uttered Sir Orville, 
 enchanted with the animated and warlike scenery that 
 everywhere met his view ; *' for never did I behold so 
 grand a prospect as that which now lies before me !" 
 
 " But you do not yet behold it in all its glory," cried 
 Sir Walter ; " a few moments, and we shall reach the 
 tent of St. Julian, situated in the midst of the hills, 
 and where he himself pitched it, in order to be private, 
 and indulge in such contemplations as are pleasing 
 and delightful to the soul of such a man ; and that he 
 might gaze on the mountain-scenery, and look at the 
 full -orbed moon in all its majesty, when it throws its 
 silver light on the deep sea ; and count each twinkling 
 star that shines in the azure heavens : for these are 
 sights which are familiar and dear to the heart of St. 
 Julian as well as the glories of the field." 
 
 At length the first opening of the camp appear- 
 ed through the foliage of the embowering shades 
 which surrounded it, and greeted the delighted eye of 
 the approaching travellers. The banners of St. Julian, 
 waving high, and glittering, seemed alone to bid defi- 
 ance to each proud foe, and awe them to a distance ; 
 and, as they drew nearer, in the words of an admired 
 poet, 
 
 ** Thoy turned aside, by natural impulse 
 Mov'd, to behold the gallant warrioi's tent, 
 That stood majestic, midst the towering hills 3 
 By a grey mountain-stream, just elevate 
 Above the winter- torrents did it stand, 
 Upon a craggy bank : an orchard slope 
 Arose behind, and joyous was the scene 
 In early summer, when those antic trees ^ 
 
 Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax 
 
206 THE l^YSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green : 
 But, save the flax-field, and that orchard slope. 
 All else was desolate, and now all wore 
 One sober hue. The narrow vale which wound 
 Anaong the hills was grey with rocks, that peer'd 
 Above its shallow soil 5 the mountain side 
 Was with loose stones bestrewn, which oftentimes 
 Sliding beneath the foot of straggling goat. 
 Clattered adown the steep ; or huger crags, 
 Which, when the coming frost shall loosen them. 
 Would thunder down. All things assorted well 
 With that grey mountain hue : the lone stone lines. 
 Which scarcely seem'd to be the work of man j 
 The dwelling, rudely rear'd with stones unhewn j 
 The stubble flax 5 the crooked apple-trees. 
 Grey with their fleecy moss and miseltoe j 
 The white-bark'd birch, now leafless, and the ash. 
 Whose knotted roots were like the rifted rock. 
 Where they had forcM their way ; adown the vale. 
 Broken by stones, and o'er a stony bed, 
 Roird the loud mountain-stream." 
 
 80UTHEY. 
 
 Macgreggor, who was mounted on the foremost 
 steed was the first to break silence amongst the now 
 merry soldiery. 
 
 " By St. Jago ! we may bid good-bye to the rob- 
 bers of the Black Forest now," uttered he, ** and the 
 ghost of Bibbo may dance a Scotch reel before us, if 
 he pleases, for now, my boys, we are close at hand to 
 the camp of St. Julian, and if he should chance to pop 
 his nose there he will be glad to take it back again I" 
 
 No sooner had Macgreggor uttered these cheering 
 and laconic sentences to his comrades than he thought, 
 as he advanced nearer to the camp, he could discern a 
 huge column of smoke, and sometimes intermingled 
 with flashes of fire, suddenly dart through the dark 
 shades of the embowering woods, and a confusion of 
 
MARIETTE MOULINE. 207 
 
 rough voices saluting his ear in no very melodious ac- 
 cents, for it seemed that of dissention and wrangling, 
 in high words, men with each other ; and he called 
 aloud to Sir Walter De Ruthen, to know whether they 
 should at once make their way towards the camp, or 
 halt gradually ? pointing out to him, at the same mo- 
 ment, the object of his terror. 
 
 «' By St. Jago I your honour,*' uttered he, <' I fear 
 there is some mischief afloat, that we do not know of, 
 and had best tarry here, till we make some enquiries 
 how the land lieth with St. Julian : soldiers in camps 
 do not generally fire on one another, and these skir- 
 mishes look not well." 
 
 " Halt, then, instantly, my good fellow '•" cried Sir 
 Walter ; " let us proceed no farther till we ascertain the 
 cause." And quickly dismounting, the intrepid war- 
 rior boldly pushed forward alone, and almost unarmed, 
 to the spot from whence the flashes of fire had pro- 
 ceeded, and the huge columns of smoke had issued. 
 
 But no description can convey an adequate impres* 
 sion of his horror when he perceived the colours of the 
 Austrian army flying in front of the first tent to which 
 he advanced ; and although Bohemian soldiers were 
 stationed on duty near it, yet they had either deserted 
 the standard of their general, or were compelled, 
 through dire necessity, to abandon the service of their 
 mighty master. But soon the dread tidings were re- 
 vealed ; and one of them exclaimed, to the impatient 
 enquiries of Sir Walter,— 
 
 *' Great sir, I grieve to tell you that we are no long- 
 er conquerors, and that the Austrian forces, powerful 
 in number, and renovated with fresh supplies and am- 
 iaunition, bore upon our exhausted troops, worn out 
 
208 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 with toil, and weary of their long sufferings, and sud* 
 denly surprized us. By treachery of a deserter from our 
 ranks, who had long been bribed to corrupt the minds 
 of our soldiery, they were apprized of the state of our 
 feeble camp ; they knew our marches and our coun- 
 ter-marches, and, like wolves in sheep's cloathing, they 
 advanced upon our defenceless troops, who had neither 
 means nor the power of opposing their numbers. Our 
 brave commander fought desperately — rallied to the 
 last, and cheered the fainting soldiery while yet his 
 voice could be heard among them ; but, alas ! he sud - 
 denly fell from his proud courser, who was shot to the 
 heart under him, and the great hero fell, like an oak in 
 the forest, covered with wounds, his manly beaute- 
 ous form bleeding at every pore, for at this moment the 
 carnage was dreadful, and the firing terrific : we are 
 only four that have escaped the sword of the enemy ! 
 The tents are now burning ; the sick that could not move 
 from their position, when the attack commenced, are 
 consumed to ashes ; and those that yet live, are too weak 
 to bury their slaughtered dead, which now lay in heaps 
 on the ensanguined plains ! I weep, great sir ! a sol- 
 dier weeps, to tell you this tale ! but, sadly 1 fear the 
 gallant St. Julian has fallen amongst the slain, and his 
 fair body trampled on by the dying and the wounded 
 steeds who also fell in numbers by his side." 
 
 Sir Walter stood, for a moment, as one transfixt, as a 
 motionless statue* or as struck dumb by sudden light- 
 ning : but only for a moment stood he so inanimate ; 
 a big tear had started to his eye, and a deep hollow 
 sigh heaved in his overcharged bosom ! The soldier 
 and the man — the christian and the philosopher, all 
 wept, and were intermingled in one general burst of 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 209 
 
 spontaneous and uncontrolable grief at the untimely 
 fate of the brave St. Julian ! the hero whom he loved, 
 because he had seen none like unto him in martial 
 deeds ! the man whom he venerated, because none 
 could rival him in nobleness of mind, and goodness of 
 heart ! and, last of all, the youthful Mentor of the age, 
 who, though young, had the wisdom to admonish age, 
 and thus had he finished his bright career — thus had 
 he closed a life which had dawned, even in infancy, to 
 such immortal glory, as none of his age could ever 
 match him : and, mournfully fixing his eyes on the 
 Bohemian soldier who had imparted to him such un- 
 pleasing intelligence, he passed his hand over his brow, 
 as one awakened from a vision of fancied happiness to 
 one of real and substantial misery, while he exclaimed, 
 ** Oh ! virtuous St. Julian ! and hast thou perished 
 thus ? After all thy glorious conquests, and thy well- 
 fought victories— thy blooming laurels, which on thy 
 youthful brows so well became thee — is this thy death- 
 bed , thou matchless hero ? among the slaughtered 
 and the slain hast thou fallen ? the unburied and 
 the dying numbered with the dead— shall no one 
 live to say, this is the great St. Julian ? — Ah ! why 
 did I leave the side of my mighty master ? why 
 was my absence, in that cursed castle of St. Clair, so 
 long protracted ? This shield else had defended him — 
 these arms supported him ! I should have catched his 
 parting breath ! — I should have heard his parting 
 words ! Ah ! better had I perished by his side, than 
 lived to mourn his loss ! Oh ! St. Julian ! St. Julian ! 
 bitter was the morn I left thee, and heavy the hour I 
 bid thee farewell ! Alas ! I thought to see thy fovely 
 brows decked with laurel leaves of smiling victory, and 
 9 2d 
 
b 
 
 mo THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 not have met thy funeral-knell. Soldier, art thou cer- 
 tain thou sawest the hero fall ?'' 
 
 *' Sir, I cannot swear as to the exact nicety of the 
 thing," answered the soldier, deeply affected with the 
 emotions that Sir Walter had betrayed ; *' but I do 
 greatly fear it, — and sure niine eyes beheld the white 
 courser on which the great warrior sat, triumphant, 
 as the god of war ; and, though pierced with wounds, 
 for the crimson blood did gush, like floods, from be- 
 neath his shining armour, which, ever and anon, he 
 blew off, as though it were a summer fly that did much 
 offepd him : and then again he spurred his courser on , 
 who, goaded by the smart, did again rush forward to 
 the field, already filled with slaughtered soldiers. The 
 smoke of fiery cannons did obscure almost mine eye- 
 sight ; but still I saw the white courser that did bear 
 St. Julian on his back, and soon I saw him fall with 
 the wounded hero ; and the piteous groans of the dying 
 animal did rive my very heart in twain. But 1 saw 
 MO more the mighty hero rise again ; for thick clouds 
 of vapour and of smoke did quick o'erwhelm me. I 
 could see nothing in this terrible moment, great sir ; 
 for though I felt no wounds I scarcely knew that I was 
 a living man beside the dead ; for I was drenched 
 with the blood of the soldier who stood at the gun 
 with me, and he was shot while fresh loading it. But 
 though I could not see for smoke and sulphur, yet 
 my ears did drink in the sad tidings that St. Julian 
 was vanquished and that a redoubt was taken by 
 storm ; in the next moment, another shout of victory 
 assailed my f«r-struck ears, and * St. Julian is fallen* 
 resounded in one mournful and piteous cry from the 
 mouths of the soldiery. * Defeat ! defeat ! the day is 
 
 i 
 
OR, MARIBTTE MOUWNE. 211 
 
 our own !' now ran through the Austrian army.— 
 ' Down with the colours of St. Julian ! was repeated 
 by a thousand voices ; and the death-like silence that 
 afterwards prevailed, told me that all was over, and 
 the battle won — but not by St. Julian. I crept from 
 beneath the station I was placed, and hid nae in the 
 shelter of yon aged oak, unseen by mortal eye — un- 
 heard by mortal ear ; and there I beheld the dreadful 
 conflagration of the fight ; the tents were burning — 
 I the soldiers flying in all directions from the vengeance 
 
 of the enemy — the wounded dying, and the living 
 taken prisoners of war ! My four companions who had 
 escaped unhurt had also concealed themselves in the 
 embowering trees : but never waked I to sucLa morn 
 as this, when at day-break I beheld the crimson gore 
 that bedewed the fields. La Fontel was the general 
 that stood at the head of the Austrian forces; and 
 bravely has he done his duty towards the emperor : he 
 is an enemy, it is true ; but I must ever admire a brave 
 man, let his station be what it may. 'Tis said he of» 
 fered terms to our great master, ere the bloody battle 
 commenced, which in scorn was rejected by St. Ju- 
 lian." 
 
 " And still in scorn shall be rejected by the proud, 
 yet virtuous allies of all St. Julian's race 1" indig- 
 nantly pronounced Sir Walter. " They have retired 
 in triumph from the field ; but, mark me, soldier, they 
 shall return again in terror to the fight, and meet the 
 vanquished foe: however impossible, by mortal means 
 it may seem to achieve this mighty deed, I swear, by 
 the great God of my fathers, that it shall be done ! Yes 
 soMier, there is yet a thunderbolt in store to revenge 
 the death of our much -loved hero : and it shall fall on 
 
2l2 THR MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 the^devoted heads of them that laid St. Julian low ! 
 Soldier, as thou lovest the memory of that gallant 
 cheif, wilt thou now follow the track that will humble 
 the proud hopes of this upstart army, and crush the 
 destroyers of our now sainted hero ? Vengeance will 
 at first be slow, but, mark me, it will be certain. Wilt 
 thou follow me should I gain an army of some thou- 
 sand men ? Nay, start not ! — His in ray power !" 
 
 "We follow, all! long live the brave Sir Walter, 
 the avenger of St. Julian T* burst from the lips of the 
 soldiery, who having joined their companion, now pre- 
 sented themselves to Sir Walter, offering their services 
 to enter into his lists as champions to defend the cause, 
 and revenge the death of the lamented St. Julian. 
 
 " We will fight while there is a drop of blood left i" 
 our veins !" uttered they ; " give us but arms, your 
 honour, and we shall not be wanting in courage ; and 
 never mind our pay, your honour ; we can do without 
 pay, so you will but take us under your protection. 
 We are no cov^ards, your honour ; though by chance 
 we escaped the vengeance of the enemy, yet we fought 
 bravely, ere a man of us gave in ; we are bleeding 
 now, though our wounds are but slight ones ; for what 
 cared we for fighting after the brave St. Julian fell ; 
 could we have saved our general, cheaply would our 
 lives have been purchased : but when the redoubt was 
 taken, we knew well we could not oppose the strength 
 of the Austrian army, which in numbers far exceeded 
 ours. Our poor men, sick and wounded, and ex- 
 hausted by their long-sufferings in the last bloody bat- 
 tle, on these very plains, fell easy into the hands of 
 the foes of the great St. Julian. The renegade whom 
 he cherished with kindness and humanky — wboin, sick 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. '2\S 
 
 and wounded, he had within his tent, and cheered him 
 with wine and food till he grew strong and healthy — 
 even he, great sir, betrayed hiin ! He was bribed to 
 do it, but what of that ? if a man cannot withstand bri- 
 bery and corruption he is no man at all. Mighty sir, 
 it grieves me to see you thus ; and we do not wonder 
 at your grief ; for you were the bravest and most gal- 
 lant officer that ever wore a shield, or sword, or buck- 
 ler, in the service of the great St. Julian, — we know it 
 well, — and well he loved you : but grieve not thus, 
 great sir ; give us leave to serve you, and we will 
 go about it straightly.'* 
 
 Sir Walter, still unable to bear the shock he had sus- 
 tained in the loss of St. Julian, had still remained ab- 
 sorded in stupor, leaning on his sword ; but the propo- 
 sition now made by the brave fellows who had lost their 
 little all in the camp of St. Juhan, after this dreadful 
 termination of affairs, at once arouzed him, and awak- 
 ened his sensibility to a present sense of the critical 
 situation in which he now stood, and th» perilous state 
 he was both exposing himself to, and the lives of the 
 brave men who had volunteered their services to follow 
 him through all the dangers which he might hereafter 
 undergo. 
 
 The indulgence of excessive grief, such as he now 
 felt, was, therefore, useless and unavailing 
 
 " For could honour's voice provoke the silent dust ? 
 Or flattery sooth the dull, cold eai- of death ?" 
 
 No ! Sir Walter knew that it were impossible ! and 
 that circumstanced as he now was, the present means 
 of safety only was to be considered ; well aware, that 
 if he did not almost immediately make from these now 
 awful and formidable territories, that the treasure he 
 
 / 
 
214 TUB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 had wttlfsuch incredible difficulty borne hither wouhl 
 be attacked and siezed upon ; while he himself would 
 be taken prisoner, with all the brave fellows who had 
 journeyed with him, and so generously fought in his 
 defence. The moments, therefore, that still remained 
 were precious ; and an experienced soldier, like him, 
 knew how to make the best use of them in a point so 
 momentous. 
 
 Accepting the proposal, therefore, of the soldiers,^ 
 he commanded them to follow him to the waggons, 
 where Macgreggor was impatiently awaiting his arrival, 
 for further orders, having a presage that nothing very 
 pleasing had occurred, by the long absence of Sir Wal- 
 ter, who in few words related the horrible events which 
 had taken place, and the loss of the idol of Bohemia's 
 glory — the young, the brave, the virtuous St. Julian • 
 to hear which, not a soldier's eye but was humid with 
 a tear, but this was no time to waste in fruitless la- 
 mentation o'er the memory of the fallen hero : to re- 
 venge his death ! was now the object of their thoughts 
 and boldly each resolved that they would hurl ven- 
 geance on St. Julian's foes, or lose their lives in the 
 attempt. 
 
 " But to loiter here would be madness, my brave 
 fellows,'' uttered Sir Walter. " Spur your coursers 
 and with all convenient speed, let us hasten back to 
 the dwelling of honest Michael ; there deposit our 
 stores in safety, and then meet in private and consult 
 together on divers plans, which I shall have to pro- 
 pose, to undermine the upstart foes that have laid the 
 brightest hero that ever shone in arms prostrate on 
 the dust ! his manly bosom bleeding* with the inglo- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOtLlNE. 215 
 
 rious wounds he had received from the accursed Aus- 
 trians.*' 
 
 " Which, by the goodly blade of a Bohemian soldier, 
 they shall all dearly pay for !'* exclaimed Steevy Mac- 
 greggor, who had been wrought up to a pitch of fury 
 by the details given him by the soldiers, who had now 
 enlisted themselves in the service of Sir Walter, of the 
 dreadful scene of carnage which had taken place, 
 «' not a mother's son of us will ever go back to the 
 castle of St. Clair ; I will be sworn for every stout heart 
 here among us that they would all see the cardinal's 
 head swinging on a post first ! would'st not thee, com- 
 rade ?" more loudly vociferated Macgreggor, " who 
 would serve a devil, when they can serve a god ? and 
 I would wager the best sequins that ever were coined 
 that the canting whining, priest has been at the bottom 
 of this bloody battle ! A murrain light upon all ghostly 
 confessors, I say ; they had better by half, trouble 
 their heads about their own consciences, than meddle 
 with the affairs of the nation : and as to their preaching 
 who would care a jot for any man's telling us which 
 is the road to heaven, that dont choose to travel that 
 road himself ? It is all a fudge, I say, to talk about 
 religion and such like, if we dont carry a little of it in 
 the warmest part about us, and that is our hearts, so 
 please you sirs ! so down with the cardinal, and let 
 us stick up the sign of liberty, and God save Sir Wal- 
 ter ! Huzza, my boys ! a long life and happiness to 
 our new master ! for curse me if I sisrve any other 
 while I have a sword to handle, or a stiver to gingle." 
 Liberty and Sir Walter was now the order of the 
 day ; all the soldiery persisting, that were in the ser- 
 
2^16 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 vice of Lady Margaret Albino, would they ever march 
 again. 
 
 " But what shall we do with the cattle that we have 
 brought hither ?" cried Sir Walter, by no means wil- 
 ling to repress the warmth which these spirited, brave, 
 and undaunted fellows evinced towards him, and yet 
 willing to restore that property which did not belong 
 to him ; " would it not be considered a breach of trust 
 to detain the cattle which was only lent to us by the 
 Lady Margaret, for accommodation ?'* 
 
 To which, Macgreggor replied, — 
 
 " No, your honour, there is no breach of trust in 
 the case, in my mind ; it is war time, and all is fair 
 that soldiers come by ; and as to my lady's nicety in 
 matters of that sort, why look at the cardinal ! but 
 mum ! a word to the wise, is as good as a wink to a 
 blind horse ! as the saying is." 
 
 '* True !'* cried Sir Walter, unable to resist the 
 pleasantry of this odd, mirthful votary of merry Momus, 
 ** and a word to the wise, will teach you to proceed, 
 Macgreggor, without further delay, — or I have a 
 shrewd guess, that all our arguments will be cut short 
 by the approach of visitants, who would not give us 
 time to beware of their friendly salutation." 
 
 :*fe;. 
 
on, MARIETTR MOULlNE. 217 
 
 chapteh X. 
 
 *• The lingeriug hours of sad regret 
 
 Are now for ever o'er ; 
 Love's flattering sigh, grief's bitter tear. 
 
 Can pierce, can pain no more : 
 With anxious fears no more I trace 
 
 The thought which clouds that eye ; 
 Nor trembling <iread that fickle heart 
 
 Should leave a wretch to die. 
 But, oh ! when tired of life's gay scenes, 
 
 When droops thy wasted youth, 
 Thou'lt deeply raourn with vain regret. 
 
 My never dying truth." 
 
 PHILLIPi- 
 
 INSTANTANEOUSLY were the orders of Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen obeyed : the spurs were applied to 
 the horses for the purpose of the most possible con- 
 venient speed, to reach in safety the dwelling of honest 
 Michael, fearful that the enemy yet lurked in ambush 
 at no great distance from the camp, expecting the ar- 
 rival of St. Julian's page, with the ammunition and 
 supplies, of which arrival they bad. no doubt, by some 
 means been informed ; and would seize on them as the 
 right of conquerors, the moment they had an oppor- 
 tunity, or were apprized that they were forthcoming. 
 Of what had passed too at the sign of the queen and 
 
 a 10 2e 
 
 m 
 
218 THB MTSTEH1£S OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 the three crosses would. Sir Walter was convinced, 
 very shortly reach the ears of the Emperor Josephus; 
 and the murderers of Bibbo (however he had pro- 
 voked such a deed to be committed, under the cruel 
 outrage he had inflicted on others, and who had only 
 acted in self-defence) be apprehended by his imperial 
 order, and forthwith be imprisoned and obliged to stand 
 their trial for so heinous and unpardonable an offence. 
 Concealment and disguise were not only, therefore, 
 highly necessary, in this dilemma, but immediate flight, 
 to avoid thevengeance and the disgrace of such a crime; 
 and Sir Walter having called Macgreggor aside, pre- 
 vious to his setting forward with the cavalcade, se- 
 cretly suggested his apprehensions on this account, 
 and bade him hasten on as fast as possible to the 
 cafee, and caution Michael against all disclosure of 
 their affairs. *^ For me,'' uttered Sir Walter, with a 
 deep sigh, '^ I must linger here awhile, to perform, if 
 possible, a soldier's duty over the melancholy remains 
 of our beloved and departed hero. Perchance I may 
 search in vain for his pale manly corpse among the gal- 
 lant slain ones, yet the attempt is worth my pains ; 
 and though ghastly be his countenance, and shadowed 
 by death those fine manly features, yet this heart shall 
 own him, and I will take all that now remains of the 
 brave St. Julian— his mortal part ; for sure I am that 
 the immortal now rests with angels." 
 
 " Are you then resolved to expose yourself to the 
 attack of the enemy?" cried Macgreggor. "Great 
 sir, consider the danger of loitering near the borders 
 of the camp, and that the enemy is near at hand." 
 
 But Sir Walter was deaf to the voice of supplica- 
 tion or friendsbipj m such a cause ; and, resolutely 
 
<5^^&v4iig his Imnd, ha^e Ma(%i*eggor fjf oceed Hvi^h the 
 *oavailca<!fe, find leave him and his horse behind him: 
 biB^ Sir Orville Faulkner at length prevailed on him to 
 grant him the melancholy pleasure of bearing him 
 Company. 
 
 ** Wink yoH thait I will leave yoii, sir?" exclaimed 
 he, *' No 1 rather will I pei-ish first, than quit the side 
 of my protector in the melancholy task you have im- 
 posed upon yourself! Allow me to bear a part (as 
 from my inmost soul I do) of the deep sorrow with 
 which your heart is filled, for the loss you have sus- 
 tained in the lamented hero's fall. I implore you to 
 let me go with you to the camp/' 
 f Thiis solicitation was accompanied with strange aiKl 
 -p^hverful emotions of manly feeling; and it was not 
 tHilbout its due weight on the mind of Sir Walter De 
 Rutfeen, who atiswered in a faltering voice, for he was 
 considerably agitated with this mark of fidelity and 
 ^e^ection in one whom he had seen so little of, and had 
 feiowfl for so short a spaee of time— 
 f *^ I eaftnot deny the small boon you so earnestly im- 
 •^lore ; but, good, my boy, I would not hsve you hazard 
 danger on my account, after having risked and escaped 
 ^ttfm so many perils in your journey to these fatal 
 territories. For me, I am reckless of my own fate ; 
 smd should I perish here, it would matter little, since 
 i Imve lost the bright star that lightened life's weary 
 pilgrimage; I should fall like a withered leaf in the 
 evening of autumn, but you are a young rose, whose 
 blooming fragrance is scarcely opened to the summer 
 sky, and it were a pity to crop thy sweetness while yet 
 thou lookest so freshly, and thy leaves are green." 
 1 " And was not the great St. Julian young ?" utte^-**^ 
 
220 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR | 
 
 Sir Orville, a sigh struggling in Ms breast. " Old or 
 young, we die all, and know not when that inevitable 
 hour draweth nigh; and yet, alas, how few are prepared 
 to meet the conflict." 
 
 " Few, indeed !" murmured forth Sir Walter, as 
 leading his horse slowly by the bridle, he entreated his 
 youthful companion to arm himself with courage 
 against the appalling sights they would have to behold, 
 and to follow him clo§ely and cautiously to the field of 
 gallant slain ones. But all powers of language would 
 fall short of description to paint the scene they did be- 
 hold when they reached the fatal spot in which Sir 
 Walter supposed that St. Julian met his fate. 
 
 Alas ! every embellishment of style has been lavished 
 to immortalize the soldier's fame, and to veil the hide- 
 ous deformity of war ! It has been by historians repre- 
 sented as the stage on which the noblest energies of 
 man are displayed ; but it ought not to be viewed al- 
 ways in that fair and amiable light. We must behold 
 it surrounded by all its awful majesty of terrors, not 
 through the false medium by which it is invested with 
 an alluring, delusive, and baneful splendour; and then 
 the sensation, and the proud aspiring hopes which ac- 
 company its ambition, will be found to be widely dif- 
 ferent. It is not in the nature of the stoutest heart that 
 ever yet panted with military ardour, however they may 
 boast of the assertion, while under the influence of its 
 dread dominion, to be truly blest or truly happy; un- 
 certain at the rising of the sun whether they should 
 ever witness its departing rays in the evening. It is 
 not natural to imagine that this is the case ; and, sure- 
 ly, whatever is unnatural is not just. But to pro- 
 ceed — 
 
OR, MARIE riK MOULINK. 221 
 
 On their first entrance to the scene ofslaughter, de- 
 vastation, and dismay, the tents were still burning, 
 and amidst the smoking ashes lay the blackened car- 
 cases of the soldiery; here and there they lay in 
 scattered heaps one upon the other — the horses and 
 their riders — and presented a spectacle too shocking 
 and melancholy for humanity to behold — whole batal- 
 lions strewed the field with the dead and the mangled ; 
 arms of all descriptions were lying on the ground ; and 
 in traversing the plain in which they had fought. Sir 
 Walter was enabled to estimate the immense loss the 
 Bohemians had sustained. 
 
 But in vain was the search after the dead body of 
 the beloved hero ; no traces of St. Julian could be 
 found, ^nd till convinced that future investigation 
 would be wholly useless and unavailing, and continu- 
 ing to linger near this spot in all probability fatal, 
 a death-like silence had reigned with Sir Walter and 
 hi.« young companion, (whose feelings had sustained 
 the severest shock, by the sights he had beheld, and 
 could not turn from gazing at, he had ever formed 
 the remotest notion of,) and half shuddering, yet 
 ashamed to disclose his terrors, he expressed, in a low, 
 tremulous voice, his horror of such sad and melancholy 
 vestiges of ruthless war. 
 
 To which Sir Walter as softly responded — 
 
 " It is, indeed, to me afflicting, and to you terrible; 
 but this is not always, thank heaven, the aspect that it 
 wears, and, ere long, you will behold it in another 
 light ; stripped of its horrors, you will be in the midst 
 of its glories, animated by one general cause, one fixed 
 and noble resolve — and that is to revenge the death of 
 
222 THE MYSl^RIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 <me of the first of heroes and of men — the brave, the 
 virtuous St. Julian ! Remember, Faulkner, thou hast 
 ■SJurorn to be the follower of my fortune, whether rough 
 or smooth : through the gale, which, in truth, blows 
 now against me somewhat strongly ; it hath attacked 
 me rudely and suddenly ; but the hand that afflicts us 
 «o deeply, when not occasioned by our own folly and 
 jntempemte passions, that hurl down vengeance and 
 ruin on our heads, can give a healing balm to soothe 
 43ie Borrows of a breaking heart, and bid th^m cease 
 fer ever !" 
 
 *^ It is true, great sir," uttered Sir Orville Faulkner; 
 
 * Sweet are the uses of adversity. 
 Which like the toad," venomous and u^ly. 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in its head.* 
 
 I have, indeed, sworn to be the follower of thy for- 
 itunes; wheresoever thou goest, and whatever be thy 
 ^destiny, 1 will still keep that oath ! it is registered in 
 the high heavens, and every lisrening planet has wit- 
 nessed its ratification, and its warm sincerity and 
 troth r 
 
 ^ I believe thee, dear boy," exclaimed Sir Walter, 
 mtjch aflfected and highly gratified with the conduct 
 of the ingenuous, virtuous, and amiable youth ; " from 
 the very inmost of my soul I do believe thou wouldst 
 aiot play me falsely. But come, boy, it is full time to 
 ^depart, -er^ danger draweth nigh ; let us quickly mount 
 owr steeds, and hasten on to the dwelling of honest 
 MT<jha€l." 
 
 Tliis arrangement was speedily effected, neither Sir 
 Walter nor Sir Orville exchanging a word with each 
 
OR, MARfETTK HffOCtlNE. 223 
 
 other till they were many miles distant from this latal 
 and ever to be remembered scene of awful terrors and 
 melancholy presages. 
 jl^ ** Thank Providence^ we have escaped danger and 
 
 pursuit," at length whispered Sir Walter; '* and a 
 short space of time, with the same good Providence, 
 will find us safely lodged at Michael's for the re** 
 mainder of the night, who> I will be sworn, will never 
 betray his trust." ^ ' 
 
 " No, indeed, in my mind, ^e honest soul would 
 sooner perish first," responded Sir Orville; 
 
 Scarce had he uttered this ere two travellers, mount* 
 €d on good horses, rode with a rapid pace after them, 
 but having come from an opposite direction to the 
 fatal scene of slaughter, it did not appear, at this mo- 
 ment, that they were in pursuit of them 5 nor had they 
 the appearance of robbers^, much less that of warlike 
 men ; for the one was in the habit of amiiistrel, and the 
 other was apparently of the Jewish order, for he had 
 a long beard of silver grey, which more than half de- 
 scended to the middle of his waist; he wore a large' 
 surtout of dark coloured woollen, and: carried a box 
 before him on his horse, such as pedlars journey with 
 about the country and the adjacent villages to trafl&c 
 with for sale. His^ companion, the minstrel, (for he 
 had his harp slung on his back, which denoted him tO' 
 be a performer and songster of the ancient bards,) was 
 apparently considerably the junior of the two; yet he- 
 had a far more pleasing and gentle aspect, and wasi 
 habited in a green cloak, with a brown beaver turned 
 up in the front with a single black feather, which was 
 the costume of the minstrels in those feudal times. 
 
'1224 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 And now, to speak or not to speak, was the question 
 with Sir Walter, who at the first eyed them with sus- 
 picion, not unmixed with apprehension : he could not 
 forget the treacherous trick that was played on him by 
 the landlord at the queen and the three crosses, and 
 imagined that in every stranger, whether courteous or 
 not courteous, he should encounter another Bibbo Gra- 
 cio ! He was, therefore, on his guard when the travel- 
 lers approached him with, (uttered by the minstrel,) — 
 
 " Save you, gentleman ! save you, tarry a moment, 
 will it please you ? The air is sharp, and the night is 
 frosty, so both together maketh a man's stomach as 
 keen-edged as a razor : we travellers that journey so 
 far are glad to bite at any thing." 
 ^,^0 this familiar address Sir Walter dryly replied — 
 - f^ I care not what thou bitest at, honest friend, so 
 thou dost not whet thy appetite on me ! But, by my 
 sword and buckler, I have a shrewd notion thou 
 wouldst find me a tough morsel and hard of digestion, 
 shouldst thou handle me too roughly. Why should we 
 tarry at thy command? We are travellers, like thee, 
 and are journeying to a far distant country, and our 
 time is precious." 
 
 " And, in good truth, our time hangs heavy on our 
 hands," uttered the minstrel; " there is the difference ! 
 were we to count it every hour we should not profit 
 much by our calculation. Yet I meant no offence, sirs, 
 in beseeching you to tarry a moment, and give two 
 poor unlucky wights some information of the road We 
 are journeying, and the state of the country; which, 
 report doth say, St. Julian, and the cursed wars toge- 
 ther, have plunged into ruin and dismay. St. Julian 
 
OR, MARTKTTB MOULINB. ^fe 
 
 fcearetfi the character of a right valiant one ; he hath a 
 bit of blood about him, but, like a game cock, he lov^ 
 eth to erovv on other people's dunghills.'*' 
 
 " Knave, thou liest!" vociferated Sir Walter, plac- 
 ing his hand on his sword ; " and blistered be the 
 tongue that tbld^ you aught against St. Julian, the 
 brightest hero that ever shone in martial glory, and 
 once the saviour of Bohemia's smiling plains, though 
 now that gallant head lies low beneath them. St. Julian 
 slandered I No, by my good faith, heaven itself would 
 rise in vengeance at the very breath of slander being 
 blown on that immortal hero ! Say, dost thou not know 
 that St. Julian is slain?" 
 
 To which the minstrel calmly replied, for he did 
 not appear to be intimidated by the rough language 
 which the enraged warrior had so suddenly addressed 
 him with — 
 
 *' That know I now: but you are mistaken, gallant 
 stranger, if thou thinkest that intelligence doth greet 
 my soul with any gladness, or that I should e'er re- 
 joice at the fall of greatness when united with the 
 christian virtues of a man so renowned, and therefore 
 greatly tempted. The great are always tempted 5 for 
 where much is bestowed of the Bounties of heaven, 
 much doth heaven require ; and he is both wise and 
 virtuous who can sail under the prosperous galea of 
 good fortune without stumbling against the rocks of 
 indiscretion, intemperance, and folly." 
 
 The surprise and astonishment in which Sir Walter 
 was now thrown by the polished and easy flow of lan- 
 guage which came from the mouth of the supposed 
 minstrel, was greater than could be imagined ; and 
 somewhat slackening his pace to an easy canter, he 
 
 blO 2» 
 
226 THE MYbTfiRl&S OF ST. CLAIR j 
 
 felt it necessary, from the common line pursued by 
 those who understand good breeding, to apologize for 
 the rough manner in which he had so petulantly ad- 
 dressed the stranger, who certainly evinced more pru- 
 dence than himself in not giving him *a reply-cour- 
 teous to the unmerited attack he had made upon his 
 feelings ; for Sir Walter well knew that no man, how- 
 ever humble in fortune, or obscure in birth, or poor or 
 wretched in circumstances, has any right to bear 
 quietly the insult or reproaches of another, when 
 conscious that he intended no premeditated offence ; 
 and is, therefore, in this case, as much entitled to. an 
 apology being tendered to his injured feelings, as the 
 proudest monarch sitting on his throne 5 and more 
 calmly he replied — ' 
 
 , ** Stranger, I have treated you with uncourteous 
 ceremony, and therefore pray you pardon me ; I owe 
 no man mortal hatred, save alone the enemy of my 
 mighty master, of whose excellence and virtue death 
 suddenly bereft me, and the smart it hath occasioned 
 in my sorely grieved heart, doth yet goad and sting me; 
 when men profess friendship to each other, let not 
 death dissolve the kindred tie that subsisted between 
 them, but memory ever cherish with fond regret the 
 remembrance of their virtues, the benefits they have 
 reaped from their hands, and the firm and unshaken 
 fidelity they expressed towards them while they so- 
 journed together in the land of the living; or how, in 
 that which is to come, can we expect to be united, and 
 live like angels, enjoying the fall bliss of harmony and 
 peace in a life which vre are taught to believe will 
 be eternal ? Death, that king of terrors, should, in- 
 deed, dissolve malice., hatred, and uncharitabIeue5$H. . 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULIN E. 22/ 
 
 however deep the injuries we have sustained. When 
 death hath closed the eyes even of our most lasting, 
 bitterest, and unrelenting foes, man's enmity should 
 cease, and pursue with hatred no longer the object who 
 is then insensible of your enmity towards him. But 
 to those we love, even after death let not memory for- 
 sake them, or suffer the envious tongue of slander to 
 reproach the slightest action of their lives. Whither 
 art thou bound for, friend ? and from whence camest 
 thou ? If, indeed, I guess rightly that you are travel- 
 lers, journeying only for business or for pleasure, and 
 seek some house of entertainment for repose and re- 
 freshment, 1 will conduct thee to one vvell suited to 
 the purpose — a friendly, quiet man, who, at peace with 
 his own conscience, doth wish no man evil ; I and my 
 companion are journeying thither, and thou maycst 
 bear us company. The world, stranger, and its dark 
 mysterious ways, have made me suspicious, and 
 treachery hath done much to keep me in the opinion 
 that all men wear double faces that have smooth 
 tongues. Yet, trust me, honest friend, there is that 
 in my nature that would scorn to wound the feelings 
 of any who deal with candour and sincerity towards 
 me : thou seemest honest, and I will think thee so, 
 spite of the prejudices I have imbibed from worldly 
 rogues, who, smiling in your face, would yet strike the 
 unseen dagger to your heart. Once more I demand 
 to know (if the question be not unseemly, to an utter 
 stranger) how far thou art journeying hence, and what 
 is thy occupation ? then were it meet to serve thee, I 
 will do i: willingly. Thou hast said rightly that the 
 Jmes are perilous, but it is not the wars thou corn- 
 plainest of, that have made them so ; were men all 
 
THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLMR; 
 
 brethren, and could we fk>d fair dealings one with 
 #66 other, we soldiers might rest on o»r muskets, and 
 beauty, love, and innocence be the only arms that 
 would embrace us ; in a land of liberty, we should 
 breathe the blessings of health and peace, and close 
 ihe winter of our days m virtue ; and death be robbed 
 ©f half its terroi-s by the contemplation of a life passed 
 in having contributed to the happiness of our fellow- 
 creatures. We should serve but tme monarch— the 
 God we adore 1 Nature would be our laws, and our 
 eountry would be freedom ! But man would not have 
 k so ; he is not content with the great and bounteous 
 gifts that nature alone gives to iwake hitn blest, and he 
 makes laws that nature never designed, and by those 
 laws renders himself a slave : his ambition knows no 
 bounds— his vain, aspidng, and presumptuous wishes, 
 no medium : be would search the book of fate, and 
 mount the starry skies, were he able 5 but there Provi- 
 dence has wisely &hut it out from all mortal know- 
 ledge — from ail mortal power ! and why is it so wisely 
 ordained ? what mortal man could behold his fete, and 
 ©ot tremble at its investigation, however virtuous, or 
 however armed with philosophy ? what a catalogue of 
 stupendous evils should we there behold hanging o'er 
 our fate 1 what languid hours of sickness — what an- 
 guish of heart — what distraction of mind — what bitter 
 disappointments — what hopes^-what fears — and, last 
 of all, perhaps, in the train, the awful messenger of 
 death ! the moment that separates us from a terrestrial 
 abode to a celestial one, would then be known 5 and 
 with what dread should we anticipate each coming 
 morrow, and each setting sun, that brings us neai'er 
 And Dearer to that destined hour 1 Life would H«v- - * 
 
OR, MARIBTTB MOULINK. 229 
 
 charm, and virtue no happiness, could man behold fu- 
 turity; therefore has the God of nature and of truth, 
 the preserver and the creator of all mankind, forbiddeo 
 it to be revealed : he has set his seal upon it, and who 
 dai*e — who can unfold the sacred page ? 
 
 ^^ Yet we do presume, we dare assert, inhuman pro- 
 phecies 5 and oft, repining at the ills we make, invoke 
 the just punishment of insulted heaven, by a base peiv 
 version of the intellect with which man alone is blest^ 
 not to murmur, but to obey its sacred laws. The naer- 
 9y heaven teaches to follow we turn from^ for- 
 
 * The quality of mercy is not strain'd. 
 
 But dfoppeth as the gentle rain from heavtti 
 
 Upon the place beneath : i1 is twice Wcss'd ; 
 
 Itblesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 
 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his -ctcmii ; ^'^^ 
 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, ,j) 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings j 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; 
 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kin^ ! 
 
 It is an attribute of God himself ! 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 
 When mercy seasons justice 1* '* 
 
 Till now, the old man, who had rode rather behind^ 
 than by the side of his companion, (the minstrel,) had 
 not breathed one sentence; but no sooner had Sir Wal- 
 ter made this beautiful apostrophe to mercy, in the 
 words of the immortal bard, than a deep sigh, resem- 
 bling more a hollow groan, issued from his breast, »id 
 he gruffly vociferated — 
 
 " Mercy 1 where wilt thou find it ? . In the flinty 
 rocks that hang over the bosom of the ocean that hath 
 not the sense to hear thee ? in the stormy sea, or th^* 
 
230 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 raging winds, or Lapland's freezing snows ? tell me, 
 stranger ? Yet with all these thou wilt not be cheated ; 
 what they seem, they are, and thou knowest the worst 
 ill they can do thee ; but from man never ! for he is 
 more stormy than the sea, more deaf than the raging 
 winds, and doth chill more unkindly than winter's 
 breath ; yet thou hopest to find mercy from him ! No, 
 stranger, there is no mercy in man ! no gratitude ! He 
 talks of it, and he preaches it well ; but there is no 
 mercy but in heaven, when man, inexorable man, de- 
 nies it. Will it please you now, sirs, to journey 
 onwards ? if thou wilt not be satisfied with what we 
 seem, without demanding to know whither we are 
 going, and from whence we came, or what be our oc- 
 cupation, which concerneth thee not, were we to tell 
 thee ; we demanded not to know thine ; but it may 
 content thee to be informed that we are poor harmless 
 wights, worn out with fortune and all her favours, and 
 are journeying where Providence directs us : where we 
 came from was the land of liberty 5 we have no occupa- 
 tion, save that of selling a few wares for harmless mer- 
 chandize 5 and for our wealth we bear it on our backs, 
 or rather, upon the backs of our poor beasts, which are 
 our own. When we tarry at a place we tender our 
 monies for what we receive, and owe no man a grudge 
 because he thinketh that we are the sons of poverty ; 
 we were born in the arms of the rugged nurse, and are 
 not ingrates enough to disown her, for though she hath 
 been somewhat rough in her treatment of us, she hath 
 taught us to despise wealth, and to eat the bread of 
 honest labour : she hath taught us humility, too, more 
 useful to man than all his boasted pride and arrogant 
 pretensions ; for having no ambition but to live peace- 
 
OR, MARIBTTE MOULINE. 231 
 
 ably, we do not enter into quarrels, nor trouble onr 
 neads with the affairs of the nation. Kings may live 
 or kings may die, it doth not move us, well knowing 
 that they have no more than mortal breath, and we 
 have the same. Now, stranger, how likest thou our 
 history?" 
 
 '^ By my sword and buckler !" answered Sir Walter, 
 pleased with the singularity and apparent bluntness of 
 the old man's style of addressing him, " it doth please 
 me well ! Thy life is enviable, honest friend ; would 
 that eveiy man could boast of blessings half so sweet 
 and tranquil, and snuff the mountain-air as free as thou 
 dost, and own no other laws but God's and Nature's.'* 
 They had now reached the summit of a steepy hill, 
 scattered here and there with dark pines, the tops of 
 which were covered with a hoary frost; some few 
 sheep were grazing on the herbage that nature yielded, 
 and with that they seemed contented, while the watch- 
 ful shepherd-boy sat tranquilly beside them, and, as 
 the travellers slowly passed, made obedience with his 
 sunburnt hand, and passed it o'er his brow, which was 
 the custom of the country, by those who considered in 
 any degree that they were addressing their superiors ; 
 a custom which it would be well if English manners 
 would adopt, instead of the unblushing effrontery and 
 bold familiar address which persons of all ranks and 
 conditions (except where interest is alone concerned) 
 are complimented with, on their first introduction to 
 strangers, who, if betraying the smallest indication of 
 poverty, have likewise patiently to endure the most 
 insulting scorn, and abject contempt, in this land of 
 liberty, flowing with milk and honey, and which but 
 
232 THB MYSTERIKS OF ST. CLAIR 5 
 
 \\%t\e merits the eulogium which is bestowed on it, were 
 i^ always drawn in the colours of truth and justice. 
 
 ^^ I will give that boy a few franks to drink owv 
 health, for his courteous and kindly manner towards 
 ULfl>" uttered Sir Walter, throwing at the sanoe time the 
 intended gift, which he gratefully received with ad- 
 ditional manifestations of respect and gratitude, and 
 the boy involuntarily uttered, as he threw a glance oa 
 the generous donor of such an unexpected gift, ** The 
 Holy Virgin bless you, sirs ! when I go to matinsWiih 
 my gi'andmother, Til pray that the wars may never 
 harm you." • tivt^.; 
 
 ** Wilt thou, boy?*' cried Sir Walter, stopping for 
 a moment to gaze on his fresh ruddy countenance, and 
 his merry laughing eyes, glowing with health, and 
 braced by mountain exercise ; " then, by my sword 
 and buckler, I do not know whether such a prayer 
 would not go further than all the eloquence breathed 
 from beneath a cardinaFs robes, or a parson's go^vn. 
 Boy, where learnt thou religion, that thou knowest 
 how to pray so aptly ?** 
 
 To which the young boy replied — v 
 
 ** Sir, I had a grandfather once, but now he is dead ; 
 but when he was alive he used to follow the sheep, like 
 me, and watch them in the night-time when the stars 
 used to twinkle, and the moon shone so merrily ; so 
 grandfather told me who made the bonny light which 
 shone so sweetly, and called him God ; by whose hands 
 eveiy living thing was made, and could not live with- 
 out him; and he bade me worship him that I might 
 prosper, and do well, when the time was come that he 
 should go to this game God, and would no longer stay 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOIJLINB, 23$ 
 
 with me to watch the sheep in the night time. And 
 so I did, night and morn, and nobody came to steal my 
 sheep as they were wont to do, after that I prayed to 
 him in this sort; then grandfather said, ^Be ever this 
 thy religion, Marco, and in thine old age, like me, thou 
 wilt never be forsaken.' This is my religion, sirs ; and 
 what my grandfather taught me I have never forgotten." 
 
 " And, by my soul, if every grandsire had taught so 
 well, there would be no robbers in the Black Forest," 
 cried Sir Walter. " There are more franks for thee, 
 in memory of thy grandfather ; for had he the wealth 
 of the emperor he could not have left thee a more va- 
 luable legacy than that which thou art possessed of." 
 With these words he bade adieu to the young shep- 
 herd boy, highly pleased and gratified that he had 
 bestowed a gift so well merited. 
 
 Incidents which appear of the most trifling nature 
 sometimes lead to causes of a considerable moment, 
 and to matters of the highest importance; and Sir 
 Walter reflected that the state of the country could 
 not be so deplorable as represented to be, when religion 
 and morality were so strongly inculcated in the minds 
 of youth as that which he had discerned in the Bohe- 
 mian shepherd- boy. 
 
 The Jew and the minstrel, for such the strangers 
 appeared to be, had also taken great satisfaction in the 
 dialogue which had passed with Sir Walter and the 
 young herdsman, although they said but little on the 
 subject, both having entered into conversation with 
 Sir Orville Faulkner ; who, no longer yielding to the 
 necessity of being tongue-tied, felt rejoiced that he 
 could now indulge in the liberty of speech. 
 
 At length they came in sight of the sequesteved and 
 clO 2g 
 
334 THE MYSTERIKS OF ST. CLAIR , 
 
 quiet hamlet, in which the no less quiet and peaceful 
 dwelling of honest Michael was situated ; and point- 
 ing it out to the observation of the Jew and the minstrel. 
 Sir Walter, with a peculiar satisfaction seated on his 
 brow, exclaimed, " There is the ca/ee, of which I was 
 speaking;, the interior of which is yet more pleasing 
 than the outward part y for there presides an honest 
 man, who, doing justly and fairly in his dealings, careth 
 as little for the world as the world careth for him. He 
 will use thee kindly while thou dwellest in his abode, 
 which he hath made comfortable for weary travellers ; 
 an4 when thou departest, he will not give thee an ill 
 name, as some of the burgomasters do on this road. 
 1 could name one, the scourge and disgrace of hu- 
 manity ; and would bid the unwary traveller beware 
 of the arrant knave, did I not truly suspect that he no 
 longer hath the power of doing mischiefi*' -^ - 
 
 " He is gone then to that ^ bourne from whence no 
 traveller e'er returns' to tell his tale to mortal listeners, 
 meanest thou, stranger?" cried the Jew, in a tone of 
 voice so agitated, that Sir Walter, surprised at tfeef 
 emotion that the old man so evidently betrayed, de- 
 manded to know if he had any knowledge of the bur^ 
 gomaster of whom he was speaking. 
 
 To which the Jew somewhat sharply replied — 
 " How am I to guess whether he be the man I 
 know, or not, since thou hast not named him ?** 
 
 t,ffiTiia*:i3i true," cried Sir Walter; ^* but what of 
 that ? a man is better known by his actions than his 
 name ; for many there are who bear a name that doth 
 not belong to them : there is nothing in a name ex- 
 cept the sound, and that: signifieth nothing. But the 
 man I speak of is one Bibbo Gracio. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. x rrS|85 
 
 ' " Bibbo Gracio !" exclaimed the i^w^ in a myste- 
 rious accent, and with an instinctive shuddering, as 
 if the name had awakened some painful recollections 
 in his memory, which he apparently endeavoured to 
 conceal 'but could not: and then added, with a deep 
 sigh, " I — I — once saw the man at a carnival in Vi- 
 enna, but never wish I to behold such a man again ; 
 he hath done me wrong, but I forgive him ; he called 
 me i^^i but, thank heaven, it was the foulest epithet 
 he could bestow upon me : yes, I remember, he called 
 me Jew, and said that I had stolen my merchandize 
 that I exposed for sale in the market ; yes, he called 
 me Jew, but I could not call him Christian !" 
 
 ^^ But thou couldst have called him villain 1 a base, 
 perfidious, blood-thirsty villain !" cried Sir Walter j. 
 *^ and, by my sword and buckler, would ne'er have 
 wronged him by such a title, for such I found him/*. 
 
 They had now reached the entrance of the cafee^ 
 and in a few moments, were saluted by the host, with 
 his accustomed good humour and kindness, though 
 not with his usual merry looks ; the cause of which 
 was but too well known to Sir Walter : and both ex- 
 changed glances with each other too expressive of their 
 heart-felt grief at the bitter reverse of fortune which 
 in so short a time had so fatally taken place in the pros- 
 pects of the once great, but now for ever fallen, St. Julian, 
 
 It was necessary, however, to put a little restraint 
 on the anguish of their hearts -, and, turning towards 
 the Jew and the minstrel, who hath both alighted from 
 their horses, and were preparing to take their baggage 
 into the house, he introduced them to his host, ex- 
 claiming, " Thou seest, honest Michael, what a good 
 name and kindly behaviour hath done for thee \ I have 
 
3S6 # TH* MYSTERIBS OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 - brought unto thy dwelling two stranger guests to so- 
 ^^oum awhile from the fatigue of journeying from a far 
 
 distant land, and stand in need of repose and refresh- 
 cment; they are the sons of industry, and perchance, 
 ffhave not many of the gifts of fortune to boast of; but 
 
 - thou wilt not let them fare the worse for that." 
 
 " No, by the blessed Virgin ! thou knowest that, 
 your honour,^' answered Michael : " I would scorn to 
 make a difference between the sons of poverty and the 
 sons of affluence, nor have I a right so to do ; when 
 they pay me the monies for the value they receive, I 
 am equally bounden in gratitude to the beggar as to 
 the king. Save you, honest sirs, will you walk into 
 the cafecy and I will serve thee quickly with that which 
 thou desirest, whether fish, flesh, or fowl. Thou art 
 weary with travelling, and must needs be sharp-set with 
 hunger." 
 
 To which the minstrel, as he carried in his load on 
 his back, (the Jew having preceded him already with 
 his box of merchandize,) replied, — 
 
 " And truly that is no lie, mine host \ we are sharp- 
 set enough, with frost-bitten noses, and empty bellies, 
 that an elephant would not fill if it were roasted alive V* 
 
 To which Michael, as he shewed them into a com- 
 fortable room, with a huge fire burning in it, smilingly 
 replied — 
 
 *' Well, sirs ! well, sirs \ we will do our best to suffice 
 you \ and, although belike the elephant may be want- 
 ing, yet we will presently provide something that may 
 chance to suit thy palate quite as well.*' 
 
 Michael then made his way to salute guests far more 
 welcome, and to condole with the brave warrior for 
 the joint misfortune they had sustained in the loss of 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINE. 237 
 
 the beloved St. Julian : in addition to which, he had 
 other griefs to impart to Sir Walter, equally foreboding 
 and alarming, in these perilous times, to the ear of a 
 soldier, whose gallant actions, when employed in the 
 service of his country, the trumpet of fame had not 
 vainly nor ingloriously sounded ; for he had nobly won 
 the laurels that now graced his fair and honourable 
 brows with victory; always distinguishing himself to 
 be a brave soldier, while to the softer ties he was equal- 
 ly congenial; displaying, on all occasitms, the most 
 generous and virtuous traits of disposition; with a 
 heart rather overflowing with the milk of human kind- 
 ness, than containing any acid that might tend to de- 
 stroy its sweetness. Such was Sir Walter De Ruthen : 
 wdth grief, then, did honest Michael impart to the brave 
 soldier the evil that was impendirig o'er his head, and 
 that even in his house, if not instantly concealed, he 
 would not be safe from the enemies of St. Julian ; who 
 had, since the fatal defeat of the Bohemian army, 
 searched every dwelling in the neighbouring hamlets 
 to find him, and to take him, not only as a prisoner of 
 war, but to arrest him in the name of the Emperor Jo- 
 sephus, as the cause of the outrag^and violence done 
 to Bibbo Gracio, who had been found murdered by the 
 Bohemian soldiery — that guards were actually placed 
 before the doors of the queen and the three crosses to 
 protect the family from suffering further outrage — and 
 an order issued out to arrest Sir Walter as a spy 
 against the state of Vienna, and the abettor of the mur- 
 derers of Bibbo Gracio — that the moment that Mac- 
 greggor had arrived with the stores at his dwelling, 
 (which by the miraculous interposition of Almighty 
 Providence alone, had escaped detection and the ven- 
 
238 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 geance of the enemy,) he had informed him of the pe- 
 rilous state of affairs, and to hasten, by immediate flight, 
 and all possible expedition, to some sequestered spot, 
 where he could secrete the stores, and save themselves 
 from the vigilant pursuit of St. Julian's foes. Sir, the 
 brave Macgreggor, like a foaming lion, darting on his 
 prey, was not idle ; he rushed towards the waggons, 
 which he was about to unload, rallied the men, and 
 taking the musketry close under his own inspection, 
 drew his sword, and swore the first man that yielded to 
 St. Julian's foes, however hard pursued, he would cut 
 to pieces ; then mounted himself at the head of the 
 foremost waggon, and spurring the horses, drove off 
 with the velocity of lightning's flash ; but whether he 
 has escaped or fallen into the hands of the enemy, I 
 know not. Now, gallant sir, look to your own safety ; 
 I implore you fly to the granary, where there is a cham- 
 ber it is not in mortal power to discover : it was formed 
 by me for tbe purpose of concealment, in case of these 
 perilous times driving me to seek for a shelter there ; 
 and surely the hour will not be far distant, when you 
 need not fly. Heaven will not suffer you to perish 
 thus 1 good cannot be rewarded with evil ! it is sacri- 
 lege to suppose it. The aged and infirm ones whom 
 your bounty, and benevolence, and goodness have 
 blessed, and the lips of infancy, imperfectly murmur 
 out your name with applause ; the fond mother again 
 repeats it to the smiling innocent, and strains it closer 
 to her breast, and, ' God bless Sir Walter De Rutben !* 
 bursts from its cherub, dimpled mouth ; a thousand 
 little tongues imitate the sound ; it flies from cottage 
 to cottage, and, when they take their evening rest, 
 it is not forgotten in the children's prayer! It is 
 
 I 
 
OR, MARJETFE MOULINE. 239 
 
 breathed from their infant hearts ; it follows them in 
 balmy sleep, pure as celestial saints ; and when the 
 morning's light again uncloses their little eyelids, and 
 awakens them from their rosy slumbers, they joyfully 
 repeat the mother's words, ^ God bless Sir Walter 1' 
 It ascends to heaven ! angels catch the sound, and he 
 who records the actions of the good and virtuous enters 
 it on that hallowed page, which it is not in the power 
 of mortals to efface, for its impression there is impe- 
 rishable r* 
 
24Q THE MYSTERIES OF STVCLAIRJ 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 •< Sleep ! gentle sleep ! 
 
 Nature's soft nurse ; how have I frighted thee. 
 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,' 
 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,' 
 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
 
 And hush'd by buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,' 
 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the great. 
 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 
 And luU'd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 
 Oh, thou dull god I why liest thou with the vile,' 
 
 In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch 
 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ? 
 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 
 Seal up the ship -boy's eyes, in an hour so rude, 
 
 And yet deny it to a king ?'* 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 " AND thinkest thou that I dread St. Julian's foes ?' 
 uttered Sir Walter, with the most placid dignity, yet 
 blended with no share of acrimonious despising of the 
 timely cautions given him by honest Michael, to secure 
 his safety, while there was yet a moment to reflect on 
 tne perils which surrounded him. " Thinkest thou, for 
 myself I have any fear ? believe me, no ! but I have a 
 poor youth whom^ I have taken under my protection. 
 
OR, MARIETTF. MOULINE. &^ • 
 
 that I would not williDgly expose to danger, on my 
 account, and for his sake alone am I anxious ; I would 
 save him, though 1 were to die ten thousand deaths. 
 Now list to me, Michael : — what thou hast proposed, 
 I will accede to, only on one condition — that if I retire 
 to the place of concealment you now propose, as the 
 means of safety from the pursuers of St. Julian, that 
 you will call me at the hour of midnight, and suffer 
 me to depart from your dwelling ; I, and the poor 
 youth whom I have taken under my wing, which, alas, 
 can HO longer afibrd him a shelter ; for unwarily have 
 I led him into danger, and at the risk of my own life 
 would I preserve his.** 
 
 " And whither would you wander, gallant sir, at the 
 lonely hour of midnight^s fearful gloom ?" uttered Mi- 
 chael, in a voice of the deepest anxiety and concern. 
 
 To which Sir Walter, after a thoughtful pause, re- 
 plied, — 
 
 " Better to wander, than bring down a ruin on thy 
 head, and endanger the safety of all that is in thy 
 dwelling, thou virtuous, honest man ! Thinkest thou 
 I could endure to see an outrage offered to thy feelings, 
 or to any of thy kindred, for the reward of thy hu- 
 manity, and the fidelity thou hast evinced towards me? 
 No, my good Michael ! I thank thee for thy kind in- 
 tentions, and shall remember it in the day of prosperity, 
 even now as I feel it in the hour of adverse fate: 
 true friendship never flies, and faithful love never 
 wanders. Were I to stay longer than the break of 
 day, though concealed in thy premises, there would be 
 suspicion light upon this cafee more than any other in 
 the neighbouring hamlets, because it is the only one 
 that lieth on the borders of the camp of St. Julian; 
 
 all 2h 
 
242 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 and they will know that few travellers pass hither with- 
 out sojourning awhile to take repose and refreshments. 
 The proud, imperious, upstart soldiery of the Emperor 
 Josephus would demand to know if thou hadst seen 
 or heard aught concerning St. Julian's page, on his 
 journey to the camp, whither, they were apprized, I 
 was conveying the stores purchased of the Lady 
 Margaret Albino ; and, although thou shouldst firmly 
 answer in the negative, they would not give credit to 
 thy assertion; or, perchance, some faltering of thy 
 tongue, some change of countenance, (as being one 
 unused to practise deception,) might betray thee, and 
 thy protestations of innocence would avail thee nothing 
 — -thy tears and thy entreaties less : they would drag 
 thee from thy peaceful happy dwelling, and carry thee 
 before the emperor ; nay, that is not the whole of the 
 vengeance that would pursue thee — thy wife, thy 
 daughter, and thy infant grandson, all, all would feel 
 the power of their malice, remorseless cruelty, and 
 revenge. They would be sent to wander from their 
 quiet and sequestered abode,, or seized upon and treat- 
 ed as conspirators against the state ; while you would 
 be confined as a prisoner, and thy goods and chattels 
 confiscated to the service of the emperor, and thy little 
 dwelling consumed to ashes ! All this would'st thou 
 suffer for my sake, honest Michael, \yeve I to accept 
 of your proffered kindness, or seek a shelter in thy 
 humble dwelling." 
 
 '^ Alas, great sir, you have only drawn the wor&t 
 side of the picture,'" uttered Michael, considerably af- 
 fected with the honour, candour, and sincerity of the 
 gallant warrior, " and I would persuade you, if possi- 
 ble, to grant my request." 
 
OR, MARIE1TE MOULINE. 243 
 
 But all the intreaties of the honest h©st were inef- 
 fectual ; and he instantly called Sir Orville Faulkner,^ 
 and informed him of the perilous situation in which 
 they now stood and of the necessity of their making a 
 hasty retreat from the house of Michael, or involve him 
 in their misfortunes : and it was at last proposed, that 
 they should partake of some slight refreshment, and, 
 instead of going into the concealed chamber in the 
 granary, betake themselves to the cottage of Michael's 
 daughter, whose husband, a quiet, civil, but alert fel- 
 low, was appointed constable lately of the adjacent 
 hamlets, by order of the emperor, and therefore was , 
 the last man on earth whom they would sus-pect of 
 shewing any quarter to the Bohemian cause. "In 
 Bertram's little cottage you will be safe," joyfully ut- 
 tered Michael, his honest eyes sparkling with satisfac- 
 tion as he spoke ; " and though it is but young days 
 of motherhood with my little Rosette, she will, never- 
 theless, make you as welcome as the flowers of May ; 
 and you need not fear that it will put her to any in- 
 convenience, for Bertram's sister sojourneth with her 
 while she is yet so delicate, and will do her best to 
 make you comfortable." 
 
 ** Kind-hearted fellow ! it were a pity so warm a 
 heart should suffer for the kindness with which it is 
 o'erfiowing," cried Sir Walter; "and you solicit so 
 earnestly that I should accept of your friendship, that 
 it would give me pain now to deny you. Come, then, 
 I will go and see your little Rosette, and your little 
 grandson; but to-morrow, at break of day, I must 
 depart." 
 
 No sooner were these words pronounced than Mi- 
 chael lost no time in conducting the gallant warrior 
 
244 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 and his youthful companion to the cottage of his son- 
 in-law, which was effected, without danger or difficulty, 
 by a secret passage through the cafhy which led t(!> a 
 spacious and well cultivated garden, which supplied 
 both families with the choicest fruits and vegetables ; 
 and at the back of this, in the midst of the most pleas- 
 ing and embowering shades, stood the humble, but 
 peaceful cottage of the happy wedded pair— -Bertram 
 and Rosette ! happy, indeed, might they justly be 
 termed, for they were happy in each other ; and gentle 
 stars had united them: no warring elements \iere 
 found jarring in their peaceful cot, save alone those 
 that wind and weather were the occasion of, and from 
 which they were defended by the never-failing hand of 
 Providence. Beauty, smiling love, and innocence, had 
 been the portion of the rustic bride — truth and in- 
 dustry that of the simple bridegroom. The basis of 
 the attachment, which formed the happiness of the 
 amiable couple, required no comment; it was pure 
 simplicity and nature ! nor was it veiled in mystery, 
 or held in doubt or suspicion, much less that of 
 jealousy — for it was that of virtue, on which the 
 kindly atmosphere of all delighted heaven shed its 
 most indulgent and approa^ing smiles I Angels breath- 
 ed their balmy influence to spread celestial happiness 
 on all aroimd them ; and every good and gentle virtue 
 concentrated and hallowed the shrine. Bertram look- 
 ed up with confidence to the wife of his bosom, and 
 Rosette with confidence to the husband of her heart ; 
 and from confidence springs esteem — and from es- 
 teem^ love : for without esteem, inspired by mutual 
 confidence, it is utterly impossible that love can ever 
 subsist at all. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 245 
 
 The walls of the cottage were decorated with a pro- 
 fusion of the simplest, but the sweetest flowers, peculiar 
 to this delightful country ; wha*e the musk-rose and 
 the Arcadian lily (both the genuine natives of this 
 luxuriant soil) yielded their fragrant and delicious 
 stores. 
 
 A krkennet was suspended in a wicker cage, beneath 
 the spreading branches of a vine-tree, and poured 
 forth notes of the most enchanting melody. There is 
 no country in the world that affords a species of this 
 extraordinary and lovely bird so original ; nor is it true 
 that it is a native of Italy, or that it at all resembles 
 our nightingale in England, in which there is no pe- 
 culiar beauty in form, nor yet in plumage ; which is so 
 exquisitely beautiful in the larkennet, that the feathers 
 of it are often obtained by merchants, at a considerable 
 price, of the owners of this rare and lovely bird ; which, 
 notwithstanding, is seldom found but in the cottages 
 of the poorer class of people, who, aware of the value 
 set upon it by merchants and travellers, passing 
 through the country, ingeniously contrive a trap of a 
 peculiar kind, in which they manage to keep the whole 
 species of the bird to themselves, carefully inspecting 
 the bird, which is so difficult to bring to any perfection, 
 that many fail in their attempt after all their weary 
 labours. The lovely bird, as if by natural instinct, 
 loving solitude, and shunning, as it were, the palaces 
 of the great and wealthy to sojourn in the lowly vale, 
 with the humble cottager; it would seem that the 
 bird were wise in the choice it had made of its retire- 
 ment, for, alas, how few find happiness in an exalted 
 state, although surrounded by every fancied luxury 
 that vitiated appetite can conceive, or power or pomp 
 
246 THE MYSTBRIBS OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 can boast of, with all its dazzling and brilliant light, 
 and with all its appliances and means to boot : the 
 gentle dove of downy peace is oft-times absent ; while 
 in the cottage, it nestles in the bosom of domestic love 
 and happiness, and glides gently down the stream of 
 life with no storm to interrupt its passage, or cast it on 
 the rock of despair. But, to return to the larkennet, — 
 the melodious pipe of which attracted the attention of 
 Sir Walter and Sir Orville Faulkner towards it, even 
 in this distracted and bewildered moment of their af- 
 fairs ; and looking at the cage, as the moon-beams fell 
 upon the clustering vines from which it was sus- 
 pended. Sir Walter exclaimed to his youthful com- 
 panion-— : 
 
 . ^' By my sword and buckler ! yon poor rogue doth 
 beguile life's wasting moments merrily. What call 
 you yon bird, friend Michael, that singeth so melodi- 
 ously, and yet so pleasantly, that it charmeth the ra- 
 vished ear, without inclining the mind to sober sad- 
 ness?" -^- ■ ^"'>>v',. .: ^;.';. . ,i 
 
 To which the host replied, — 
 
 ^' It is the larkennet, your honour, the pride and the 
 glory of all our village maidens, and all our rustic 
 swains; because it abideth with them in all seasons 
 and all changes, and never changeth its habitation for 
 a more costly one ; so they call it the bird of constancy ; 
 and it is a customary thing, here standing, in our 
 neighbouring hamlets, for the first present that a youth 
 doth make to the maiden that his soul loveth, to 
 carry in his hand, to her father's cottage, one of these 
 rare and beautiful birds, and hang it under a vine tree, 
 which it never afterwards will abandon ; although wind 
 and weather threaten to destroy its slender habitation. 
 
OE, MARIETTE MOULINK. 24/ 
 
 Still it preserves its unshaken fidelity and friendship to 
 the hand that gave it a shelter there i and it pieadeth 
 the passion of the enamoured youth, and dotli find 
 favour in the sight of his mistress, more than all the 
 eloquence of human homage, or of human praise, be- 
 cause it is the oird of constancy, that he has left as a 
 hostage of his faith in her father's dwelling. A poet 
 that travelled to this country made some verses on the 
 larkennet, when my son-in-law, Bertram, was paying 
 his addresses to my little Rosette, who blushingly re- 
 ceived the gift from the hands of the honest gentleman ; 
 though she was not scholar enough to understand all 
 the meaning that such fine poetry contained, fgr we 
 were not all born poets, you know, your honour." 
 
 *' No, by my sword and backer ! friend Michael/' 
 cried Sir Walter, scarce resisting a smile at the inge- 
 nuous simplicity of the host, " or thou hadst been 
 born to be starved, while fools are feasting in the land 
 of plenty : a poet's laurels something, in some sort, 
 resembleth that of the soldier's — there's but little gold 
 grows upon them." 
 
 *^ But I have a mortal respect for them, for all that, 
 your honour ; it is not gold that makes the man," re- 
 torted the host. 
 
 " Nor learning that maketh the poet," replied Sir 
 Walter. ^^ But, come, what sort of verses did he 
 make on the larkennet, that made your pretty Rosette 
 so anxious to preserve the offspring of his muse, and 
 treasure them up in her memory." 
 
 " I have them framed and glazed for the amusement 
 of my customers, that tarry here over their sherbet and 
 their segars," cried Michael : " and I have a shrewd 
 guess that I can repeat every word of them." 
 
248 THE MYbTERlES OF ST, CLAIR; 
 
 "Let us hear them," said Sir Walter; and Michael 
 began to recite them in the folio wine: words :-^ 
 
 " Rosette, she loves her larkennet : 
 But tell me why she loves it so? 
 *Twas Bertram's gift : 'twas Bertram set 
 Her heart first in a glow. 
 
 And dear the gift, and dear the prize. 
 When love and honour leads the way ; 
 All other love the maid denies. 
 That e'er would teach her heart to stray. 
 
 For what is love without that gem 
 Which binds two faithful hearts. 
 Like rose-buds, on one parent stem : 
 Such sweets that love imparts. 
 
 Be to thy mistress ever true, 
 Sweet bird, of plumage rare ; 
 And she will ever smile on you. 
 Rewarding all thy care." 
 
 *^ So much for the larkennet/' cried Sir Walter ; 
 " aad very pretty lines they are, friend Michael ; and 
 I do not in the least wonder that your little Rosette 
 is so well pleased with the poor poet's gift." 
 
 By jthis time they had reached the door of the cot- 
 tage, at which stood a pretty, neat looking peasant girl', 
 who, looking innocently in the face of Michael, soon 
 perceived the respectful attention that was to be paid 
 to the stranger guests 5 and dropping a low curtesy, 
 she intreated that they would have the kindness to walk 
 in — Michael immediately preceding them to shew them 
 the way. ^^ Is Bertram in the way, my good Amy?" 
 demanded Michael, as he conducted Sir Walter and 
 Sir Orville into a snug little apartment, all fitted up in 
 the rustic style and where the hand of honest industry 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 249 
 
 was perceptible in every part of the simple materials 
 that formed this humble, but truly happy dwelling. 
 There was poverty, too — yes, there were vestiges of 
 poverty, as well as those of industry, in the humble 
 habitation of Bertram and Rosette : but what of that^ 
 there was the sweet rose-lipped cherubim, Content, 
 sitting in the very midst of it, and smiling, like a little, 
 paradise, sad and affecting, in its lone simplicity ; a 
 little garden, planted with vegetables, supplied for 
 their homely meals, which were frugal, and sufficient 
 tp support nature, and they required no more. But 
 R6§ette was fond of flowers, and her kind, fond, and: 
 indulgent husband had hitherto gratified her taste for; 
 this innocent propensity, without a dissenting voice 
 to deter her from her most favourite amusement, and 
 harmless pursuits. There were pinks and carnationsj 
 and there was the jessamine and the rose, and the 
 white scented lily, all growing in native |)erfection, 
 under the careful eye of their lovely inspectress; for 
 Rosette herself exhibited a far fairer and fresher flower 
 than any that her garden could boast of; yet Bertram 
 continued to increase her little store of balmy treasures, 
 even at the cost of his own weekly labour, to procure 
 the beloved of his heart this simple gratification, which 
 sometimes excited (though unwillingly) the gentle 
 rebuke of an equally adoring father, of whom, being 
 his only child, she was the idol. 
 
 Sometimes Michael would bring in his hand a basket 
 of delicious fiuit, fresh gathered from his vines, as a 
 morning present for his pretty daughter ; which were 
 all slighted, though not rejected, for one simple flow- 
 eret, culled from the vale, to add to the beauty of her 
 gay assemblage of blooming flowers ; and this pass^n 
 
 Z»I1 2 I 
 
250 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAFR ; 
 
 continually gaining ground, instead of diminishing, 
 after Rosette bad become a wife, frequently excited 
 the di&pleasure of ber fond father, who, looking at the 
 alteration in ber shape, with a facetious smile, would 
 exclaim, when she was pettish with her husband for not 
 procuring ber the plants she had requested, though 
 attended with some drawback on the produce of his 
 weekly labours,— 
 
 ^'^ Why what dost thee want with more flowers now^ 
 my Rosey, when thee will soon have one of the prettiest 
 flowers to plant in thy garden thee ever had in thy 
 born days ? But the women-folks be never contented, 
 blow high blovv low, but always hankering after some- 
 thing, which when thee hast gotten, thee wantest 
 something more. Thou wilt soon have a baby to nurse, 
 and then thee will never sigh for a paltry flower again, 
 as long as thee do live." 
 
 Whether Rosette was shamed out of her passion for 
 flowei-s, by this gentle remonstrance of her father, or 
 whether the thought of her shortly becoming a mother 
 banished all other retrospections from her mind, was 
 uncertain, but, from this very hour, she ceased to tor- 
 ment her quiet, docile, yet good-tempered husband 
 about her flower-garden; and the birth of the little 
 new-born stmnger occupied too much of her time and 
 her attention to bestow a thought on inanimate things, 
 when one so lively filled her arms. 
 
 And in these arms the little grandson of Michael was 
 encircled, when Amy telling him that Bertram and 
 Rosette were both together. Sir Walter and Sir Or- 
 ville were conducted to their presence. The infant 
 ivas reposing on the mother's breast ; and the father, 
 seated beside her, was quietly smoking a segar with 
 
OB, MARIETIB MOULINE. 261 
 
 much apparent delight and satisfaction; they botli 
 arose at the entrance of the stranger guests, and Mi- 
 chael quickly explaining the nature of his unexpected^ 
 visit, Bertram immediately offered his services to Sir 
 Walter, pledging that while he condescended to so- 
 journ beneath his roof, he should be perfectly secure 
 from the enemies of St. Julian, or the power of the 
 Emperor Josephus. 
 
 " I am much bounden to you, my good fellow,*' ut- 
 tered Sir Walter ; " nor shalt thou fare the worse foi* 
 helping a soldier on his road to fortune, and assisting 
 him to get out of the shot of danger ; a time may conae^ 
 when I need not fly, as I do now, from my pursuers ; 
 and the hour of revenge will then be mine/' 
 
 Without making any remark on words so warmly 
 and vehemently expressed^ Bertram, who for a few 
 moments preserved the most cautious and nespectfi^ 
 silence, at length exclaimed,— 
 
 " Sir, it is reported to thci^^tate of Vienna that tt^ 
 great St. Julian is not slain, but thaJt he has fled, no 
 one knows whither; but it is strongly suspected that 
 he has not wandered far from this province, but is 
 concealed by some treacherous foe of the emperor, only 
 to surprise them at some future opportunity; while 
 others affirm that he has escaped from the camp, in a 
 habit of disguise, procured for him by a Bohemian sol- 
 dier, who was once in the service of the Lord Albino : 
 and to this report is now owing the strict commands 
 of the emperor. That it will be considered treason to 
 any who harbour him, in his dominions ; and the pur 
 nishment will be death to all who either embrace his 
 cause or grant him a shelter. But, for my own part, 
 T believe the rumour is false." 
 
2i® THE M Y& TKRIKS OPl's¥.»^CI,Sm J 
 
 " And thoon^yest believe it 'fij^i^ej'as it is'ijrS^proba^ 
 ble,** littered Sir Walter; *^iforVJri the first placey Mr: 
 great spirit would never brook disguise— that were 
 beneath a soldier's courage ; and, in the next place, 1. 
 did behold a trooper from the camp that saw the god^^' 
 like hero fall ; coveried over with woniids, and mounted , 
 oh his charger, he wore his beaver up, and all his 
 shining armour wore he about him : by my good faith, 
 he^cQuld'iaGt be mistaken, for the gallant beast that 
 bore him on his back did first receive his death-wound^ 
 and fell beside him. All this heard I from one who 
 was in the heat, of the battle's rage, and sorely did 
 escape;, with life itself, from the fury of the contest ; 
 it is true I searched for the body of St. Julian on the 
 ensanguined plains, where many a gallant warrior laid 
 low, while others were consumed to ashes, but I could 
 not find him. But that's not strange or wonderful ; he 
 i»ight have fallen with the scattered heaps that lay 
 mangled in one general mass of blood and slaughter, 
 too horrible to mention. Thy young wife is too tender 
 and gentle hearted to hear such tales of ruthless war ; 
 I would not shock her soft nature with a history so 
 rough 1 no, my good Bertram, I do respect a woman's 
 feelings better. Yet were that rumour true that thou 
 speakest of, I would immortalize thee, were I able, to 
 the starry skies, to reign, a ruling planet, there : but, 
 SCi' '.Julian's slain ! — that little word doth m6ck my 
 earthly happiness, and damps all earthly joyg." < ^ iin^, 
 
 "But to grieve for departed excellence were siiifiily 
 I have been told, great sir," answered Bertram, much 
 moved with the emotions which were so powerfully ex- 
 cited in the breast, and so deeply impressed on the 
 countenance of the gallant warrior : " you cannot call 
 
OR, MARIKTTE MOULINE. 253 
 
 him back t'o earthly space, were thy tears unniimberedii 
 as the streams that wash the ocean." ( 
 
 ^' Thou sayest tnily,'* rejoined Sir Walter ; "nor 
 would I wish the meanest slave that ever dragged a 
 chain, or tugged the labouring oar, so deep an injury 
 as to call him back to this weary world of pilgrimage 
 and sorrow. Mighty in arms, he is mightier still in 
 the realms of everlasting bliss, with his heavenly Father 
 which is in heaven. He was too pure and faultless a 
 being to sojourn in the land of corruption, of bribery, 
 and false deceit, and treachery." 
 
 During this conversation, which had a visible effect 
 6i;i the feelings of the whole party, Amy had spread a 
 napkin, white as drifted snow, by the order of Rosette, 
 on a table, with refreshments not unworthy of her no- 
 ble guest ; while the perfect loveliness of the sleeping ^ 
 infant, which was now placed in the cradle by the fond 
 hand of the careful mother, attracted the attention both 
 of Sir Walter and Sir Orville towards it. 
 -tr^^ The boy sleeps soundly," cried Sir Walter, eye- 
 ing- its roseate cheeks with peculiar tenderness, and 
 stealing a glance as oft at its pretty little mother ; for 
 the daughter of Michael was fair as the lily of the 
 shady valley, and pure as the mountain snow: she 
 was small and delicate in her form, but her features 
 bore a striking similarity to those of her father ; and 
 her bright blue eyes sparkled with good-nature and 
 vivacity ; when she spoke, her voice was melody, and 
 her smile was innocence and love ; her fair hair wan- 
 toned in luxuriant profusion over her snowy neck 
 except that part which modesty concealed from the 
 eyes of the beholder ; and the costume of the Bohe- 
 mian peasant's dress was neat, simple, and becoming. 
 
254 THE M YSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 and would have been a model for some of our English 1 
 ladies, instead of the frippery and finery which they 
 sufestitute for simplicity, and sometimes decency ; un- 
 conscious that it is the sweetest charm that can adorn 
 their persons, and that beauty " wants not the foreign 
 aid of ornament, but is, when unadorned, adorned the 
 most.'' 
 
 ^* Yes," again repeated Sir Walter, " by my sword 
 and buckler, he is a fine chopping fellow, this grand- 
 son of yours, friend Michael, and, twenty years hence, 
 will make a fine soldier; so, as belike I shall have no 
 chafice of seeing the smiling i-ogue when I set out, at 
 daybreak, I will just leave my parting benediction on 
 the head of yon beauteous babe, with its pretty mother,: 
 that when I am far distant, and the boy is old enough' 
 to lisp out my name, she may teach him to remen^bec 
 the old soldier who left him a keepsake." ''>^v " i 
 
 So saying. Sir Walter drew from a leathern bag 
 twenty pieces of bright and shining gold, and forcing 
 them into the hands of the overpowered and trans- 
 poirted mother, bid her not utter one single word of 
 acknowledgment or thaqks ; for a gift that came spon- 
 taneously from the heart did not require any. 
 
 ^^ No, no, my good lass,*' uttered Sir Walter; ^ if 
 eae cannot do a kindness for our fellow-creatures with- 
 out being thanked, or reminding them of the obligation, 
 it ceases to be a kind action at all. Put up the gold 
 till tho boy knows how to value it as the gift of Walter 
 De Ruthen ; and, should I lire to return to this land 
 again, he shall have betteii^e«ii6e|o^femember the wars 
 of St. Julian." /1y>ho'(' r.\&r^ 
 
 Although tears of gratitude bedewed the cheeks of 
 the father, the mother, and the grandsire, at this unex- 
 
255 
 
 pected gift of generosity of tlie gallant warrior ; yet, 
 in conformance to his wish, they breathed it in respect- 
 ful silence. And Sir Walter now expressed his desire 
 of being conducted to the chamber that was prepared 
 for him and his youthful companion, fully determined 
 in his resolution of departing at the earliest hour of 
 daybreak; and taking his leave of Michael in the 
 most affectionate manner, whose feelings were so 
 mournfully affected, that all power of utterance was 
 denied to him, as he wrung Sir Walter's hand, at the 
 door of his chamber; and he sobbed out, — 
 
 *^ God speed you, gallant sir, wherever thou goest, 
 and whatever be thy wanderings. This humble cot- 
 tage, which thou hast gladdened with thy presence, 
 and cheered with thy beneficent bounty, is at thy com- 
 mand, and all that is ia it : my prayers, and the pray- 
 ers of a thankful mother rest on thy gallant head." 
 
 "And what better prayers wouldst thou have 
 breathed for me, than a mother's prayers, my good 
 fellow," uttered Sir Walter ; " a mother's supplication 
 at Ihe throne of mercy ascends to the vaulted heavens, 
 the most resistless of all human homage ! Farewell, 
 honest Michael ! thou hast done a soldier a good turn, 
 and I have done thee no ill one ; let men speak of one 
 another in their just dealings, as they find them. 
 Peace be to thy dwelling, and all that is in it ! Fare- 
 well I" 
 
 Poor Michael, unable to reply, from the excess of 
 his feelings, grasped the hand that was extended to- 
 wards him, Avith fervour ; and hastily bidding his son 
 and his daughter a good-night, rushed out of the gate, 
 wholly overcome by the recollection that he could no 
 longer aid the cause, or serve the interest of the unfor- 
 
256 THE MYSTERIES Ot ST. CLAIR j * 
 
 tunate and lamented St. Julian, without bringing down 
 a vengeance on his house and family, by the continual 
 malice and persecution of St. Julian's fOesJ^ And fer- 
 vently praying that the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen 
 might escape the vigilance of the Emperor Josiephus, 
 and speedily effect his purpose of revenging the death 
 and the wrongs of the immortal hero, he returned, with 
 a heart surcharged with grief, to his cafee^ and learnt 
 from his old dame, Jacquelina, with some surprise, that 
 : the Jew and the minstrel had suddenly departed, after 
 having finished their meal and paid their reckoning, 
 wi-hout assigning any cause for their hasty departure, 
 or expressing any dislike to the treatment they had re- 
 ceived; that the Jew seemed agitated, arid the min- 
 strel no less suddenly affected ; and on her repeated 
 entreaties to know if they did not like the chamber 
 which had been prepared for their night's lodgings, 
 the Jew ans^yered, — 
 
 " Woman, we will bear no interrogatories ; suffice it 
 to say, that our affairs requiring further dispatch than 
 we thought necessary when we first came hither, we 
 must instantly depart, which concerneth thee not, while 
 you sustain no loss by our tarrying here. There is 
 the money due to you for that which we have received, 
 and, for your civil treatment, we do tender you some- 
 thing more. Farewell ; commend us to your honest 
 husbarid, and the gallant strangers who conducted us 
 hither. They have our blessing — and you, our thanks : 
 80 farewell 1" 
 
 On which, they placed their baggage on the backs 
 of their horses, and mounting them, instantly galloped 
 off with the utmost expedition. 
 
 This account of the newly arrived travellers perfectly 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 25? 
 
 astonished and surprised Michael, as they seemed 
 weary and oppressed with fatigue, when they first took 
 up their quarters there, and seemed perfectly satisfied 
 with the accommodation which had been shewn to 
 them. 
 
 " Had they mixed with the company that were as- 
 sembled in the cafie V was the enquiry of Michael, 
 after the first effects of his sudden surprise, created by 
 this intelligence, had subsided. 
 
 To which Jaquelina replied — 
 
 '^ The minstrel only went into the mfie, and called 
 for a segar and a glass of sherbet ; but he was not 
 many minutes before he returned to the Jew, who had 
 taken his sherbet alone, and wished to avoid being 
 seen by any one; and soon after the minstrel had 
 returned to him, they suddenly rang the bell, de- 
 manded to know what they had to pay for their 
 refreshments, and informed me that they must instantly 
 take their departure from the cafee^ on an errand of 
 business which brooked no delay; and they departed, 
 without uttering another sentence : but 1 do sadly 
 fear, husband, that they be not What they seem, and 
 that they are in search of no good ; for the old Jew ^o 
 seem a mortal queer one ; and, bating his years, and 
 his silver-greybeard, which do hang down to the mid- 
 dle of his waist, he has the handsomest pair of legs 
 that you ever clapt your eyes on ! aye, and as portly a 
 gait, too, as though he had been born to be an em- 
 peror!" 
 
 *^ Tush, woman !" cried Michael, half smiling, 
 though strangely perplexed what to think of the 
 quality of the stranger guests ; " a truce to &uch idle, 
 silly chat ! how the dickens came you to see what sort 
 
 ell ^K ' 
 
258 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 of legs the old Jew had, when he would scarcely pop 
 his nose from under the large slouch hat that covered 
 the whole of his nob ?" 
 
 To which Jaquelina cunningly replied — 
 
 " Well, but I got a peep at him for all that, when he 
 was taking his sherbet, alone, in the little parlour ; so 
 I made a pretenpe to go in and throw some more fuel 
 on the fire ; and he had thrown his grey woollen cloak 
 over the back of the chair, and then I saw his legs that 
 I have described to you. I warrant he couldn't hide 
 any thing from me ! I am as cunning as a fox !'* 
 
 " That you are, old dame,'* cried Michael; " and 
 as noisy as a parrot 1" 
 
 Whether this remark haid any tendency to excite the 
 displeasure of the old dame, or not, we cannot deter- 
 mine ; but certain it is, that she turned very abruptly 
 away from the presence of Michael, who, left to his 
 own reflections, considered the strangers who had 
 quitted his habitatVoo, of a very pfiysterious character, 
 not in the least doubting the probability of the conjec- 
 ture of his old dame, that neither the Jew or the min- 
 strel were what they seemed to be; and that they were 
 in some sort, spies sent abroad, and kept in the service 
 of the Emperor Josephus, to surprise, by treachery, all 
 that were found attached to the cause of 3t. Julian, or 
 had, in any degree, been firm in loyalty and zeal to- 
 wards him ; and much he feared that they were in 
 search to discover the retreat of the brave Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, who, he rejoiced, at the present moment 
 was beyond the reach of their evil intentions or wicked 
 devices. But though Michael was assured of this, yet 
 he could not retire to rest without going to his son-in- 
 law's, to apprize Sir Walter of what were his appre- 
 
dfl, MARlBttfi MOULiWE. 259 
 
 heiisions with respect to the supposed Jew and the 
 minstrel, who had, for some unknown cause or other, 
 so suddenly taken their departure from his house : and 
 he wished the gallant warrior to be on his guard, lest 
 he should again overtake them on their travels, and 
 again attempt to insinuate themselves into conversation 
 with him, merely to be informed of his plans, and the 
 place to which he was going. And thus resolved, Mi- 
 chael put on his hat again, nodding to his old dame as 
 he went out, with— * 
 
 " I must e'eii go over to Bertram's again, dame, 
 and tell Sir Walter of the conduct of this Jew and 
 this minstrel, whom I believe to be no more a Jew nor 
 a minsftrel than I am." 
 
 *' Well, did I not say so ?" uttered Jaquellna ; '*'aiid 
 did not you think that I was playing the fool with yott 
 When I said that the old man with young legs '* 
 
 The latter part of this speech was lost upon the 
 anxious and impatient Michael, who, arriving at Ber- 
 tram's cottage a few moments before Sir Walter had 
 retired to his chamber, requested to have a private 
 conference with him, which was immediately granted;, 
 and the news he communicated on the subject of the 
 departure of the Jew and the minstrel so suddenly and 
 abruptly from the cafee^ not only Surprised Sir Walter, 
 but filled him with the most serious apprehensions that 
 their habits were only assumed, and that they w^ere 
 actually, what Michael supposed them to be, spies 
 employed in the service of the Emperor Josephus. 
 
 *^ And yet they certainly had not (he appearance of 
 being such," uttered Sir Walter ; *^ nor was their 
 manner or their language that of impostors. There 
 was an unaffected simplicity in the young man, who was 
 
260 THB MYSTERlJfiS OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 in the habit of a minstrel, that was pleasing, and in 
 that of his senior companion, a rationality, and even, 
 at times, an energy of thought, which it would seem 
 belonged to a man of a far superior station in life than 
 what he represented himself to be : but still, I may 
 be deceived — and they, deceivers ; for, alas ! that men 
 are not always what they seem, is a lamentable and 
 most incontestable truth : and they who appear to have 
 most virtue, have most vice. Still, Michael, I will 
 .neither change my resolution, nor alter my plans ; I 
 will positively leave this cottage soon as the roseate 
 tints of morning first peeps through the vaulted sky ; 
 nor fear I aught in the shape of mortal men : and 
 wherefore should I ? I never yet trembled before my 
 God ; why should I tremble before man ? His power 
 can control, or stifle with a breath — with a breath 
 preserve, or with a breath destroy. No, Michael 1 I 
 thank thee for thy good caution ; but, by my sword 
 and buckler, I ne'er will change the fixed, unalterable 
 purpose of my soul, and that purpose is revenge ! yes, 
 it is the first and only time I ever cherished dire hatred 
 to one of mortal race ; but he that laid the loveliest 
 flower low in the dust — Bohemia's darling pride !»— 
 shall meet a soldier's vengeance: so, once more, 
 honest fellows, farewell I" 
 
 On these words. Sir Walter grasped the extended 
 hands both of Michael and his son-in-law, (who had 
 joined his entreaties with that of the host to dissuade 
 the gallant warrior from venturing on his pilgrimage 
 at so early a hour as he proposed,) and Aniy preceding 
 him with a lamp, he hurried to the apartment that had 
 been prepared for him, Sir Orville Faulkner occupying 
 another bed in the same room. 
 
f 
 OR, MARIETTE MOULINB. 51 
 
 Bertram was to keep watch till the break of morn- 
 ning, and was then to awaken his guests ; and Michael, 
 with a melancholy foreboding that he should never 
 again behold the brave Sir Walter De Ruthen, re- 
 turned, with a heavy heart, to his own habitation. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sir Walter, when alone with his youth- 
 ful companion, began to disclose, though cautiously, 
 his present plans; and to express his fears for the 
 brave soldiery who had set out with the ammunition 
 and the stores from the camp of St. Julian, under the 
 management and command of the bold, intrepid Mac- 
 greggor ; and to lament his fate if he had fallen iuto 
 the hands of the emissaries of the emperor ; " of which, . 
 I do not entertain the smallest doubt," added Sir 
 Walter, with a deep sigh. " The blood-thirsty tyrant 
 would like nothing better than to slake his vengeance 
 on such staunch friends to the cause of St. Julian; 
 and torture him with every species of cruelty that 
 imagination could devise, to extort confession from 
 them ; which, refusing, would be followed with imme- 
 diate execution. But, by my sword and buckler, if 
 this is the fate of the bravest fellow that ever handled 
 a Bohemian steel in the cause of liberty and St. Julian, 
 it shall be the dearest scaffold that e'er was erected in 
 the court of Vienna ; for I will hasten on to my friends, 
 and rally up the allies to join an army of some thou- 
 sands of the stoutest hearts that ever beat with the 
 breath of life. Faulkner, I would tell thee something 
 more, but that thy young and boyish heart would yield 
 to feelings that would make thy courage falter in the 
 purpose of revenge and vengeance : but, by the God 
 of my fathers, I will not revoke the curse ! The car- 
 dinal, Faulkner — the hated, saintly hypocrite! — the 
 
262 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 profaner of religion's laws, although he preaches them ! 
 — he must fall from the pinnacle of his stately grandeur; 
 and in that fall, the house of St. Clair and Albino must 
 perish too!" 
 
 " Albino !" exclaimed Sif Orvill6, his soul sickening 
 at the thought, that the safety of the lovely Augustina 
 would be endangered too. " Surely, surely, my gal- 
 lant sir, there's not a savage that roams the wilds of 
 Afric's burning zone, that e'er would harm the vir- 
 tuous, faultless daughter of Albino j and for that 
 lovely maid, would spare the mother too ?" 
 
 " And Spare the cardinal, for that mother's sake- 
 meanest thou that?" angrily pronounced Sir Walter; 
 ^ No I by the eternal Powers that rule over the seas, 
 air, hcEV^ens, him will I Hot spare, nor any of the vile 
 confederates who abetted and aided the allied forces 
 against the army of the great St* Julian ! But fear 
 not for the safety of the Bohemian lady ! she will be 
 protected, and treated with the high respect which 
 becomes a daughter of the virtuous Albino. We were 
 not men could we barm loveliness and virtue, or e'er 
 do injury to her who was beloved by the godlike hero 
 whose fate we mourn so deeply ! Thou tremblest, 
 and thy cheeks are blanched with fear ; wherefore this 
 woman's weakness ?" 
 
 *^ Sir, if I betray a weakness which J should blush 
 to own in any other cause, you must forgive me," ut- 
 tered Sir Orville, sighing deeply ; "but I cannot 
 suppress my feelings, or deny that I tremble for the 
 destiny which may await, in this awful contest 'twixt 
 friends and foes, the gentle, timid, fair Bohemian 
 maid : yet, great sir, whatever your resolves, I do not 
 doubt their honour, much less thy manly tenderness 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 263 
 
 for a helpless woman ; an^, with implicit confidence, 
 I not only follow your fortunes, Sir Walter De Ruthep, 
 wheresoever thou goest^, but also am well assured ^hou 
 wouldst never do wrong to the virtuous daughter of 
 the great Albino.'* 
 
 *' Fear me not," uttered Sir Walter ; '^ I will do 
 nothing that may npfc becoipe a man, a christian, ^pd a 
 soldier." 
 
 And at this precise rngmept, a gentje tap at the door, 
 with as gentle a voice, gave them iptelligepce ik^t tlve 
 morning was already ushered in, and tj^^t t\)p ko\^V 
 was near at hand when Sir Walter had determined to 
 take his departure hence. 
 
 And, in one moment. Sir Walter was equipped for 
 flight, Bertram not being able to prevail upon him to 
 partake of the slightest refreshment, before he took his 
 departure. The steeds were at the gate, and instantly 
 mounting them, they gallopped ofif into the direct road 
 for the main country, which was so wild and moun- 
 tainous, that few travellers ever attempted to pass its 
 boundaries, owing to being exposed to the most im- 
 minent peril of their lives ; the craggy precipices are 
 here and there scattered all over the country. In some 
 parts they are so steep that the inhabitants ascend them 
 by ladders, and draw up the cattle with ropes. The 
 waters are also deep as those of the Nile and the Niger; 
 and, as in Egypt, they have their periodical inunda- 
 tions, which greatly fertilize the plains. The thunder 
 and lightning here are sometimes dreadful and tre- 
 mendous ; and the winds no less terrible and alarming, 
 overturning the houses, and tearing up trees by the 
 roots ; and the rain comes down in torrents. Such was 
 
12^ TUB MYSTERIKS OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 the country through which Sir Walter De Riithen and 
 Sir Orville Faulkner had to pass. 
 
 But very different sensations occupied the mind of 
 each as they winded down a steepy mountain, at the 
 extremity of which lay an almost uninhabited and 
 dreary waste, remarkable only for the desolation and 
 hopeless solitude which surrounded it : in Sir Walter 
 this sensation was ^ny thing but fear; and in his 
 youthful companion, it was every thing but the hope 
 of seeing their prospects wear a more pleasing, or a 
 brighter colour. 
 
OR, MARIBTTE MOULINE. ^^& 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 «* There is a bird in the air ; 
 
 There is a fish in the sea; 
 
 And thfe fish and the bird 
 
 Will corae at a word ; 
 
 And the bird and the fieh 
 
 Will come at a wish ; 
 
 But, I'll not tell the secret to thee, lady ! 
 
 I'll not tell the secret to thee ! 
 
 There is a stone on the ground; 
 
 There is a flower on the tree ; 
 
 And the stone and the flower 
 
 Submit to my power ; 
 
 But I'll not tell the secret to thee, lady ! 
 
 I'll not tell the secret to thee I" 
 
 Maxwell. 
 '^ 
 
 ^^ IT was in this wild spat, in former times, that the 
 most glorious battles that ever filled the page of his- 
 tory were decided," uttered Sir Walter to his silent, 
 youthful, and now, certainly, wondering companion ; 
 who, in spite of the utmost confidence he placed 
 in the gallaftt warrior, had been shocked and sur- 
 prised at the intelligence he had communicated of the 
 plans and designs that were aimed at the destruc- 
 tion of the castle of St. Clair, and the dreadful con- 
 
 a 12 2 L 
 
266 THB MtSTBRlES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 sequences which would result from an open invasion 
 and attack on the battlements of the Lady Margaret 
 Albino. Not that for this bold, aspiring, and haughty 
 lady, or her pious friend, the Cardinal Benvolio, he 
 entertained any high respect or veneration ; but Lady 
 Margaret, whatever her faults and indiscretions, was 
 the widow of a late gallant and illustrious lord, (who 
 was of virtuous memory,) and the mother of the beau- 
 teous Augustina — for the possession of whom, con- 
 tending monarchs might have sighed ; and for whose 
 safety, amidst these rude tumults of war and outrage, 
 he now felt the most foreboding fears and apprehen- 
 sions ; well knowing, that although no personal vio- 
 lence would be offered to her, yet, if it assailed her 
 mother, that her tender and affectionate heart would 
 feel for a mother's sufferings, and, perhaps, volun- 
 tarily yield herself a victim, to share in the same fate. 
 These were the serious thoughts and painful reflec- 
 tions of Sir Orville Faulkner, when Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen so suddenly addressed him, in one of the 
 most lonely and mountainous parts of the desolate 
 country through which they were travelling, and which 
 was rendered still more dreary, by the uncomfortable 
 solitude It betrayed : in some parts, indeed, it was so 
 trackless and inaccessible, by the steepy summits and 
 frightful precipices that here and there gaped beneath 
 them, that the horses could scarcely preserve a beateh 
 path 'j and to the observation made by Sir Walter, his 
 companion replied — 
 
 " And yet it would seem, from the utter solitude 
 of these stupendous heights, that no human being ever 
 had the temerity to cross them before, much less in- 
 habited so wild a spot: for my own part, were I in- 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINB. f^ 
 
 clined to indulge in gloomy or superstitpus terrors, I 
 never yet beheld a country so likely to inspire one 
 with sickly fancies as that we are now joufncying 
 through." "^ '' 
 
 \ Sir Walter smileH: but at ^his [very moment, the 
 steed on which he was mounted gave a sudden and 
 involuntary plunge, as if potent terror possessed it; 
 .^d although spm-red by his dauntless and iiitrepicl 
 ii'j^^jpf j^till the animal stood, with manp erect^ suorting 
 and plunging forward, but without proceeding to move 
 ^ p;^ce towa^'ds the declivity of the st^jepy mountain, 
 xjpjyn \yhi^h; Sir Walter infonned Sir Orville, he wek» 
 gojng to descend. 
 
 Tq which, under the influence of some apprehen- 
 sion. Sir Orville exclaimed — , -^ 
 
 i' " por heaven's sake, sir, let us desist awhile from 
 so hazvurdous ay attempt ; it is plain, tliat the animal 
 >yiji not proceed a step further down this moui^tain, 
 which is fri^itful in the extreme : or, if ^u will be 
 r^ol^it^^ \et ^^ instantly dismount, and gently ^uide 
 tl^c poorbeqj^tg, )ybo are no Ignger able J;o keep thdjr 
 
 \ ^'• /ili^Ji, tush, boy]'* utterijl Sir Walter, setting 
 fresh spurs to his courser, that now unwillii^ly obeyed 
 tiic lash of his master j " do not shame the com*age of 
 a soldier, by betraying such woman's fears. I tell 
 thee^ Jfejar ;)Qjtl)_in;g ! for when we have journeyed over 
 tl^cse steepy mQuntains, the extremity of our danger^ 
 
 ■ ;i;i:4U )he jpass^f|. The bird of Providence hovers oy^f 
 l^^^vfth do>vRy y^^in^^aipid soorij, i^ no|;es of liberty, will 
 prQciaUn a soldier's gratitude, and a soldier's vvel- 
 
 • come 1 Come, cheerily, cheerily, boy ! — let not thy spi- 
 rits fail thee in a hour like this ! why need 1 repeat 
 
268 THB MYSTEfilES OF ST. CLAIR J ^ 
 
 what before 1 have told thee — that I am in search of 
 friends, gallant friends ? who, valiant in arms, and 
 mighty in power, have swords to revenge, and hearts 
 *to feel for the vrrongs of St. Julian ! On the east of 
 these stupendous heights, stands, in majestic beauty, a 
 fortress, which has stood the siege of many a bold in- 
 vader, and threatening foe 5 but, by my sword and 
 l)uclder, it never knew the hardy chieftain that would 
 rob it of its dearest rights and privileges — liberty 1 
 which to the soul of man is earthly paradise. The 
 governor of this fortress owes mortal hatred to the 
 Emperor Josephus, because he dispossessed him once 
 of the hand and heart of a fair princess, whom sh 
 preferred to the love of the Tartarian conquers- ' 
 Zosinski j and hence the feudal wars broke out afm«:^ | , 
 with these two powerful and mighty rivals in love au ; 
 glory. Terrible and furious were the battles which en- 
 sued, till the lady died in child-birth, and then they 
 ceased — Zosinski returning to the fortress of St. An- 
 tonio, like a lion(^his den — his vengeance only stifled 
 hvLt not appeased, but lurks in ambush, again to at- 
 tack his most morta} and detested enemy, on receir- 
 ing the least encouR^ement from the allied forces. 
 The sudden iand unexpected defeat of St. Julian, will 
 put the jealous Tartar on the alert, and with re- 
 doubled vengeance, he will wield the sword against 
 the man he hates. Now, canst tell my purpose for 
 journeying hither ? I must confer with this revengeful 
 Tartar, and learn l^is plans ; and, by the spirit of my 
 sainted fathers, I will not leave the fortress, till I have 
 made him swear to become my ally in the great cause 
 that inspkes my soul to move in arms against the fell 
 destroyers of my liege lord and gallant master ! Boy, 
 
OR, MARIHTTE MOULINE. 269 
 
 thy youthful cheek is blanched with fear ! what mean- 
 est thou by these wild tumults of a troubled mind ? dost 
 thou then fear that I should play thee falsely, in bring- 
 ing thee from the castle of St. Clair ? or, that I should 
 forego the promise I have made thee, that thou shalt 
 be great in shining arms and deeds of martial glory ? 
 or tremblest thou for the fair Bohemian lady ? If so, 
 I promise thee, by all the immortal powers, that rule 
 the air, sea, and heavens, that none shall ever harm 
 her/' 
 
 Sir Orville was about to reply to an assurance so 
 consolatory, when, having proceeded nearly to the ex- 
 tremity of the steepy mountain, the snorting steeds 
 were again seized with terroi*, the cause of which was 
 perfectly inexplicable to Sir Waljccr and his young com- 
 panion. At length they reached the banks of a river, 
 which was not deep, but smooth as the glossy surface 
 of the lake, and over which Sir Walter declared that 
 he must pass, ere they could arrive within the boun- 
 daries of the fortress of St. AnMnio ; but what was 
 his involuntary surprise and piw)und astonishment, 
 when suddenly the water became agitated and dis- 
 coloured, from its former ^very hue and tranquil 
 state ; and the horses, after plunging for several mo- 
 ments in the troubled stream, at length became im- 
 moveable ! 
 
 " By my sword and buckler ! I believe that we 
 have, by an unlucky chance, encountered some foul 
 ugly witch, that doth bestride the current of this 
 stream and perplex and bewilder our path with her 
 incantations : — but, come, let lis dismount, and wade 
 the stream, since there is no other way of arriving at 
 dUr journey's end." 
 
270 THK MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 Scarpe had Si;: Walter prooouuced these words, 
 when a solitary pilgrim, with a wicker basket in his 
 liand, approached to the river's bank, and pulling up 
 his cowl, which discovered a countenance of the mild- 
 est complacency, addressed the wonder-struck tra- 
 vellers in the following mysterious words : — 
 
 '*^ Stranger, whoe'er thou art, and whether thine 
 errand here be for good or evil, thou hast offended 
 against the laws of the holy prophetess, known in 
 these parts, to rule the waters and the winds, by her 
 art and communion with the saints above ; whereas, 
 she provoketh the genii of the silver lake to trouble 
 thee, so that thou wilt not I'each the place of thy des- 
 tination in safety, without proffering a prayer to her, 
 th,e prophetess, to grant thee her aid, to help thee 
 across these troubled waters, in which thou standest 
 immoveable, till, by her magic art, she emancipate 
 thee from thy doom." 
 
 "Thou art a lying slave, to tell me such an idle 
 tale, thou canting follower of devilish priest-craft !" 
 uttered Sir Walter; who, notwithstanding the perilous 
 situation in which he stood at the brink of the angry 
 ^ood, with his trembling and affrighted companion^ 
 kept all the while brandishing his sword, to keep the 
 poor pilgrim at a distance, from advancing one step 
 nearer to the spot on which they stood. " Thinkest 
 thou to baffle me with such bombastic stuff about a 
 prophetess troubling the waters, and ruling the air and 
 winds, which no power can controul — but Mis who 
 made them. Begone, officious, meddling fool; and 
 tell thy gossip's tale to ears more credulous, ancj to 
 Pagans such as thou ; for I believe thee not, and here 
 will I stay, till a superior power than that thou hast 
 
OR, Mahiettb moulink. 271 
 
 told me of bids me to depart. A prophetess ! I 
 laugh to scorn ! for, by this goodly steel I wear about 
 me, I will see her jBrst, ere I obey her call ! Thou art 
 a pilgrim well versed in holy-deed and holy precept ; 
 but I am a soldier, and deem nothing holy that does 
 not come from the God that I adore ! Pursue thy 
 journey,honest pilgrim, if there is aught that is honest in 
 thy calling, which much I doubt, for men are not born 
 to fly from temptation, for the security of virtue : it is an 
 idle, canting tale, good pilgrim, for people of thy per- 
 suasion to tell us such. The God of holy nature, from 
 whom we came, and to whom we must return, forbids 
 and requires not such bitter sacrifices of painful for- 
 bearance : he has given a world for his creatures to 
 enjoy, and has in no way denied us the blessings of 
 its liberty and its sweets, provided we know how to 
 make a proper use of them. And say, canst thou do 
 that in a lonely cell ? is this thy duty to thyself and 
 to the beneficent Being, who has so bounteously spread 
 his stores ? canst thou attend to the exercise and love 
 of virtue in a cloister*s melancholy gloom ? No, pil- 
 grim ! thou canst not do any such thing ! for it is only 
 in the active and necessary duties of life, thou canst 
 practise the love of humanity and the exercise of vir- 
 tue ! Go to, then, and do thy penance, and fast at the 
 feet of holy shrines, and worship living saints : but, 
 by my sword and buckler, I have a shrewd notion that 
 thou mayest fast, and pray long enough to their saintly 
 godships, ere they will give thee food or garment, to 
 ke^p the cold out of thy hungry stomach V 
 
 So saying, Sir Walter, with one plunge, dashed into 
 the foaming waters, now agitated by the most furious 
 violence, and bidding Sir Orville follow him, left the 
 
27^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 5 
 
 pilgrim on the side of the opposite bank, with uplifted 
 hands and mournful ejaculations, wonder-struck at the 
 temerity and intrepidity of the dauntless hero ; and 
 fully expecting every moment to see the riders and 
 their horses (by the art of the prophetess) precipitated 
 to the bottom of the angry stream I 
 
 But although no such calamity as the forebodings of 
 the pilgrim had predicted, actually occurred in the 
 midst of the foaming torrent, which burst with redoubled 
 fury o'er their heads, as they had with immeasura- 
 ble difficulty, arrived to the river's banks, that was on 
 the boundaries of the fortress of St. Antonio ; yet they 
 were exhausted with the vigorous efforts they had 
 made use of, to prevent being overthrown by the plun- 
 ging of the horses, and the violence of the current, 
 which, at moments, almost deprived them of breathing, 
 and which sent up so noxious and suffocating a va- 
 pour, that they '^ere nearly stifled xi'ith its intolerable 
 stench ! nor was it possible (from the roaring of the 
 waters) for Sir Walter to impart the least degi'ee of i 
 consolation to his affrighted companion, who seeing 
 nothing but death in the perilous attempt they bad 
 made to cross the waters, and unable himself to con- 
 tend with the violence of the raging and perturbed 
 element, was utterly abandoned to despair, and si- 
 lently resigned to a fate, which from appearances, he 
 considered to be inevitable. But this fate was not 
 destined for the amiable Sir Orville Faulkner, nor yet 
 for the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen ; for they land- 
 ed on the opposite bank in perfect safety, in the midst 
 of embowering shades and clustering vines of the most 
 beautiful and luxuriant growth ; and with the utmost 
 astonishment, they beheld the waters of the stream 
 
OR, MARIETTR MOULINE. 273 
 
 become smooth and tranquil again, assuming the 
 lovely crystal surface, and the silvery hue they had, 
 on their first approaching towards them 3 and Sir 
 Walter exclaimed, — 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, if this be the disposi- 
 tion of the lady prophetess towards us, we shall be 
 in a pleasant condition when we approach nearer to 
 her ladyship's holy pastures and concentrated territo- 
 ries; she has already given us a taste of her holy 
 water, has not she, boy ? But, come, since she has 
 thought fit to let us land in perfect safety, on this 
 side of the water, I care not for the ducking that we 
 have had in crossing it. How fare thee, boy ? after all 
 the rude dangers we have passed, there is little doubt 
 but thou art sadly weary.'* 
 . To which Sir Orville replied : — 
 
 " That Providence has permitted us to escape at the 
 immediate peril of our lives, we surely, sir, cannot be 
 too thankful, or rejoice too greatly; but is it not 
 strange, sir, what we have witnessed, and that the 
 predictions of the pilgrim should so truly be verified ? 
 I am no lover of superstition, but I cannot deny the 
 evidence of my senses, though wholly unable to pene- 
 trate the mysterious wonder 1 have just seen; yet, 
 methinks, 't\A as passing — " 
 
 i >' Tush, tush, boy!" cried Sir Walter, afTectlng to 
 despise the su.perstitious fears that were creeping on 
 him ; " what matters it, whether it be a syren or a 
 witch ; since it is only the power of a woman that 
 we have to encounter, the devil's in it if we cannot be 
 a match for her." 
 
 '' You deceive yourself, if thou thinkest so, gallant 
 stranger !" uttered a voice at this precise moment, so 
 
 bl2 2 m 
 
274 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 wild, and yet so melodious in its accent, that both Sir 
 Walter and Sir Orville, fascinated, yet fearfully struck 
 at its beautiful cadence, instantaneously stopped their 
 horses, and looked around the branches of the cluster- 
 iiig vi^es, to see if they could discern any object from 
 whence it had proceeded ; -but no earthly object could 
 they see or hear again, till they crossed a wide plain, 
 at the extremity of which stood the fortress of St. 
 Antonio ; and then the same sweet voice saluted their 
 ear again in the following words : — 
 
 '^ Strangers, I am invisible I Thou canst not see 
 the form, although thou hearest the voice of Marietta 
 Mouline ! Remember it, nor doubt the kindness she 
 will shew thee in an hour when you shall need her pro- 
 tection. You must not reply to me, nor ask me any 
 questions ; but wheresoever thou goest, I will be with 
 thee. Farewell ! time is on the wing ! Keep thine 
 own counsel 5 and when thou reachest the fortress of 
 St. Antonio, say nought of what thou hast heard or 
 what thou hast seen of Mariette Mouline." 
 
 Astonishment and surprise, greater than they had 
 ever felt before, seized the wondering senses of both 
 Sir Walter and his young companion ; and for many 
 minutes after the voice had ceased, they remained un- 
 der the influence of a sensation they never experienced 
 in the whole course of their existence. Wha^ was 
 this Mariette Mouline, who had so mysteriously and 
 prophetically addressed them ? — a spirit or an earthly 
 being ? and what were the motives of selecting them 
 as the objects of her attention ? To answer such a ques- 
 tion would have puzzled the wisest sage, or the most 
 profound philosopher ; yet, Sir Walter De Ruthen had 
 too great a confidence in one only supreme and eter- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 275 
 
 pal Being, not to reject immediately the former sup- 
 position, and endeavour to eradicate from the mind of 
 his young friend, any vain and imaginary terror that 
 so strange and extraordinary an occurrence had given 
 birth to ; and to convince him by argument, that there 
 was nothing in what they had seen or heard of a su- 
 pernatural tendency, which heaven no longer permit- 
 ted to reign in days like these. 
 To which Sir Orville gravely replied — 
 " Then what, may I ask, do you imagine this Ma- 
 riette Mouline to be ?" 
 
 " A woman !** cried Sir Walter, '^ a mere earthly 
 woman ; either a wandering maniac, or a mischievously 
 inclined woman, who has been employed to adopt this 
 mysterious mode of addressing us, in order to apprize 
 the enemy of our secret plans ; and thus to follow us 
 as a spy on our actions, and lead us to imagine, if it 
 were possible that we could labour under so gross an 
 error, that she is gifted with supernatural agency, and 
 holdeth communion with heavenly bodies. But if she 
 continues to carry on this deception with one whose 
 principles cannot be shaken by such bombastic foolery, 
 and whose implicit faith and confidence in an over- 
 ruling Providence can never be irradicated, she will find 
 herself mistaken ; and until she appears in her true 
 character, of mere flesh and blood about her, in the 
 sha^Ki of Avoman, I will believe her to be an impostor, 
 wishing us to suppose her what she really is not. So let 
 us e'en jog on, my boy, for I am resolved to reach the 
 fortress of Antonio this night, though it were twenty 
 leagues hence, instead of not half that distance ', and 
 as for this Mariette Mouline, I care not a rush for her 
 spells, and her witcheries, and her prophecies, not 1 1" 
 
SJ76 THK MYS%|IIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 On these words, Sir Walter redoubled his speed, 
 and having already, by his undaunted bravery, inspir- 
 ed 1ms yeung companion with animatiorrand courage, 
 they set fresh spurs to their horses: the shades of 
 evening very perceptibly advancing, made them use 
 the utmost expedition, till they arrived within a quar- 
 ter of a mile of the fortress of St. Antonio ; and here, 
 in great want of refreshments to recruit the poor weary 
 beasts, «nd supply their own necessities, which their 
 harassed minds stood so much in need of, they stop- 
 ped at a little hovel, by the road-side, wretched and 
 solitary in its appearance, indeed ; no sign was ex- 
 hibited on the outside to give notice to the weary 
 traveller, that it was a place at all likely to afford him 
 the slightest accommodation ; yet there was a cheerful 
 light that ' emitted its blaze through the apertures of 
 the decayed and broken windows, which as the moon- 
 beams fell thick upon it, discovered a half- ruinous 
 building, \vhich the hand of hoaiy-headed time was 
 quickly laying siege to -, while the other half certi- 
 fied that it was still the habitation of some earthly 
 being, whose wretchedness was the sole cause of their 
 sojourning in so wild and ruinous a spot. 
 
 *' There is little entertainment to be had here, I 
 doubt," cried Sir Walter ; " yet, weary and oppressed 
 as we are, the slightest morsel which sufficeth nature 
 will content us, and the poor sorry beasts, v/ho are 
 sinking beneath us ; at all events, I will see what gold 
 will do, to raise us a supper, if not for ourselves, at 
 least for our horses." ' 
 
 Sosaying, Sir Walter knocked gently at the latch 
 of the door of the solitary hovel, which appeared to 
 have no other security to koe^) invaders out ; and he 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINE. 277 
 
 had not waited many minutes, when one of the most 
 singular beings that ever exhibited a human appear- 
 ance, met his view. 
 
 A long shaggy beard descended to the middle of his 
 waist, which, blended with a decrepid stature of the 
 most hideous and diminutive kind — for he was of the 
 size of a dwarf, and, in features, of the baboon race, 
 with small grey goggle eyes — made it at first impos- 
 sible to suppose that he held intercourse with man- 
 kind. A leather belt, from which was suspended a 
 huge bunch of keys, a small dagger, and a pistol, were 
 the ornaments which decked the outside garments of 
 this most singular and extraordinary creature ; who, 
 notwithstanding, shewed some sort of deference and 
 respect to the gallant-like appearance of the strangers 
 before whose presence he now appeared ; and though 
 the accent of his voice was somewhat rough, yet he 
 did not forget to make a sort of obedience to Sir Wal^ 
 ter, when he demanded to know what was his business 
 there. 
 1 " Where ?" uttered Sir Walter. 
 
 " At the elphi," i*eplied he, with an ideot-like laughs 
 *' Canst thou not see that this is no house of call for 
 travellers? not but the mistress whom I serve will 
 give thee both meat and drink, if thou crave for it : 
 she liketh not the hungry and the thirsty to go starving 
 from her gates. But thou must not offer her monies 
 when thy hunger is sufficed ; she will not touch gold 
 nor do a goodly turn if thou thank her for it." 
 
 " By my sword and bucker ! the very devil, and all 
 his imps, do cross two poor unlucky wights in their 
 wanderings to this infernal region of sprites, and spirits, 
 and witches, and sea-cockatrices ! It is not long since 
 
278 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 we could not cross a poor harmless sheet of water 
 without being told that it was enchanted by a pro- 
 phetess, who could make it turbulent Avhenever she 
 pleased; and, a murrain light upon her harridan 
 spells ! there we did bestride the waters with our poor 
 sorry beasts, till they had like to make us food for the 
 fish, as we shall shortly be food for the worms, if 
 thou dost not quickly suffice our hungry stomachs ! 
 and whatever thou art, who dwellest in this lonely soli- 
 tude, I will givt3 thee gratitude, though thou despisest 
 gold; here is a poor youth, sorely oppressed with 
 travel, I do beseech thee to have pity, and give him 
 food, ere he perish ; and, since thou wilt take no mo- 
 nies, thou wilt not surely refuse to take that which all 
 men seek, whether great or small, whether rich or 
 poor, whether humble or exalted — " 
 
 ^' And what be that?" surlily demanded the ugly 
 elf, for such he seemed. " I do not deny thee that 
 which thou requirest ; for, truly, it is not mine to give; 
 but were it so, I would let no man perish. Tarry but 
 a moment longer, and I will let my mistress know thy 
 i-equest, and retprn to thee quickly; but I charge thee, 
 as there are no locks, bolts, or bars, in this crazy man- 
 sion, to keep the wolf ft'om the door, thou make no 
 entrance hither, till thou hast gained full liberty." 
 
 To which, Sir Walter, now out of all patience with 
 the prolixity of the dwarf, and no longer able to resist 
 the pressing calls of hunger, which now began to assail 
 him most furiously, ijQ; no; vi^ry nielodious accents vo- 
 ciferated-— 
 
 " Why what, in the name of all the furies that infest 
 this place with their foul megrims, dost take me for, 
 thou lynx-eyed whelj) ? Thinkest thou I am a rpbbcr ? 
 
- OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 279 
 
 or with this goodly blade, which hath shone in mighty 
 battles, that I would come, like the assassin of the mid- 
 night hour, to do a murderous deed ? Go tell thy mis- 
 tress that we are gallant soldiers, with empty knap 
 sacks, hungiy bellies, and starving steeds ; and if she 
 hath the heart of a giantess, she Avill not deny us suc- 
 cour." 
 
 " Thou wilt find that she hath the heart of a woman," 
 surlily growled the ugly dwarf, and instantly disap- 
 peared, leaving Sir Walter and Sir Orville at a loss to 
 surmise whether their reception at this apparently 
 wretched hovel would be one of a hostile or a friendly 
 kind; but scarce had they made these reflections, be- 
 fore the dwarf returned again with a large and massy 
 key in his hand, whicTi he said was to open the door 
 of the stable, where the poor beasts might rest awhile, 
 and that he would give them a measure of corn, while 
 they were taking some refreshments in the elphi, which 
 they had liberty to enter as soon as they pleased. 
 
 This intelligence being highly satisfactory to our 
 weary and exhausted travellers, they very quickly dis- 
 mounted, leaving the care of their horses to the dwarf; 
 who, pointing to an arch covered with the skins of 
 various animals, bid them enter a chamber on the left, 
 where they would find some refreshments placed for 
 their use ; accordingly they did — but what was their 
 surprise to discover that the interior parts of this 
 miserable hovel contained the most costly furniture, 
 and rich and splendid tapestiy, representing a part of 
 the Heathen mythology, most superbly executed ; and 
 in the centre of the chamber was a table covered AVith 
 a crimson cloth, on which was a variety of dishes filled 
 with the choicest delicacies that could tempt the ap- 
 
280 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 petite to regale on them ; a golden cup stood at each 
 corner of the table, filled with wine ; and the chamber 
 sent forth the most fragrant perfume of the acacia 
 flower, which was as reviving and refreshing as the 
 viands were delicious, to the weary and exhausted. 
 spirits of the almost fainting travellers; who both sat 
 down in silence to partake of the sumptuous banquet 
 that was placed before them, preseiTing the most pro- 
 found silence according to the hint given them by the 
 dwarf— ^to express no acknowledgment of thanks; to 
 the mistress of the mansion for any mark of kindness 
 or hospitality which she thought proper to manifest 
 towards them ; and with which, however uriwillinglyj, 
 they strictly complied. .^.^Mm^i^ mt 
 
 The dwarf, also, who after having attended to the 
 horses, came and stationed himself at their elbow, pre- 
 serving a mysterious silence, which, fearful that some 
 incautious word or aotion of the travellers might break 
 through, he placed one of his fingers on his lip, while 
 with another he made dumb signs, pointing to an 
 inscription that was written in legible characters over 
 the painted arch, at the entrance of the chamber, and 
 which contained words to the following eflect, which 
 started with wonder and astonishment too gi*eat for 
 utterance, the spelUbound senses of Sir Walter P0 
 Ruthen and his young companion : — 
 
 " Whatever traveller sojourneth in the mansion of 
 the elphi, and partaketh of the hospitality thereof, le( 
 him remember not to slight her favours, by doubting 
 her high authority, nor the art of her great calling, 
 with the blessed communion she holdeth with the saints 
 above I the elphi is invisible to all moj-tal eyes, but she 
 heareth and seeth those who deride her power, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 281 
 
 laugh to scoifn her mystic art : she pursueth with lia- 
 tred and vengeance ; but those who do respect her au- 
 thority, shall .depart in peace; if they are htingry, 
 they shall be fed ; if naked, they shall be clothed ; 
 if poor, they shall have alms bestowed upon them ; so 
 they will hold sacred the memoiy of Marietta Mou- 
 line r" 
 
 Astonishment had till this moment sealed the lips 
 of Sir Walter De Ruthen ; but on suddenly encoun- 
 tering the name which before had impressed him with 
 so much mysterious awe, and who had so lately held 
 an invisible conversation with him, and in whose habi- 
 tation it appeared that he now was ; and considering 
 that he was now completely the dupe of an artful, dan- 
 gerous, and insidious woman, the motives of whose 
 singularity of conduct he still attributed to her having 
 some connections with the foes of St. Julian, and that 
 she was employed by them to practise this deception, 
 and to extort, l>y the most extraordinary means, a con- 
 fession of his plans and designs — he determined tlie 
 moment he should arrive at the fortress of St. Antonio, 
 to acquaint Zosinski with all the mysterious circum- 
 stances that had attended him i^i the progress of his 
 journey thither; and to enquire, if he knew aught of 
 this extraordinaiy personage, who in the supposed 
 character of a prophetess, called herself Mariette Mou- 
 linc, which being the name of the holy sanctuary on 
 the borders of one of the most fanatic and superstitious 
 -countries in the whole world, was the more likely to 
 effect her purpose of deception, and to lead the pro- 
 foundly ignorant and simple inhabitants of this dc- 
 ludeil country astray. This was the only idea that 
 possessed the mind of Sir Walter De Ruthen, respect- 
 
 6 12 2n 
 
282 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIll ; 
 
 ing the pretended prophetess, Mariette Mouline — from 
 whose mysterious abode he now wished most anxious- 
 ly to make the best of his way; yet concealing his 
 suspicions of the disgust and abhorrence, in which he 
 held both her principles and character, he intimated 
 to her no less singular and mysterious attendant, how 
 much he was gratified with the entertainment he had 
 received ; when the dwarf placing his finger on his 
 lip, in the same manner that he did before, implied, 
 that no acknowledgment of thanks was expected, or 
 would be received ; and that he must imperatively pre- 
 serve the silence he had requested, while he remained 
 there. ' - =^-'' h.-i^JU[:i '-1 ^^-M'a) 
 
 "^" A prohibition of speecli was' certainly, under pre- 
 sent circumstances, by no means difficult or unplcasing 
 to Sir Walter, who pointing to the arch through which 
 he had made his entrance to the chamber, the dwarf 
 guessing that he wished to depart, preceded him with 
 a lamp in his hand, and taking the huge-massy key 
 along with him, brought forth the renovated steeds, 
 who having fed plenteously, appeared to be as eager 
 to depart as their masters, which Sir Walter took 
 good care he would not be long in doing ; for in a 
 moment, both him and Sir Orville were mounted on 
 their backs, and, with the velocity of lightning, began 
 to expedite the remainder of their disastrous journey 
 to the fortress of St. Antonio, having only exchanged 
 one word with the dwarf, ere he quitted this strange 
 and extraordinary mansion, and that one word was 
 "farewell!" 
 
 But no sooner were they completely out of hearing, 
 as well as out of sight of the elphi, than Sir Walter 
 exclaimed— 
 
OR^ MARIETTB MOULIN£» 29i| 
 
 *^ So far fortune has favoured us, boy ; aAother of 
 her lucky smiles, and we shall be out of the shot of 
 danger, in the fortress of St. Antonio 3 and this hag, 
 this Mariette Mouline, will then no longer have the 
 power of exercising her high authority, as she calls it, 
 which I not only laugh to scorn, but utterly despise j 
 dost not thou, boy ?"> nr^i ^t^t/s^ ' i>f'i 
 
 But the mind and imagination of Sir Orville was 
 perplexed and bewildered with both what he had seen 
 and heard ; and he could not so suddenly and imme- 
 diately adopt the opinion of Sir Walter De Ruthei^ 
 rcspecting the conduct of this singular and mysterious, 
 and to them, invisible, Mariette Mouline ; for it was 
 evident she had power which, though but earthly, was 
 great and wonderful : and, under present circum- 
 stances, he did not see why Sir Walter should reject 
 her services, or pronounce so decidedly against her-^ 
 as being employed in the service of the Emperor Jo- 
 sephus, to detect his plans, and surprise him by 
 treachery; it^was scarce possible for a female, however 
 she might possess the most extraordinary courage, to 
 do this with impunity; and cautiously he replied to his 
 gallant friend — 
 
 " J am incompetent to judge, sir, of this extraordi- 
 nary and mysterious affair; yet it would seem that 
 Mariette Mouline intended us no wrong, or she would 
 have denied us the assistance which our exhausted 
 spirits stood so greatly in need of." 
 
 « That is true," uttered Sir Walter; " but that was 
 policy, and had nothing to do with the outward show 
 of humanity, which wants no disguise at all. However 
 you are young, and inexperienced in the arts of man- 
 kind ; when you live in the world, you will learn better 
 
284 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 3 
 
 how to distriminate between assumed virtue and that 
 which is the pure offspring of a kind and ingenuous 
 hearty untainted by worldly sophistry, and uncor- 
 rupted by worldly deceit," 
 
 Sir Orville made no reply ; ^d the towering heights 
 of the fortjress of St. Antonio appearing in sight, they 
 proceeded without delay to demand an audience of the 
 great and mighty Zosinski, who ruled at once a tyrant 
 and a monarch over his subjects there. 
 
OR^ MARfETlE MOULtNE. ■^^285 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 *< But, whate'er you are, 
 
 That in this (Jesert, inaccessible. 
 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
 
 If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church j 
 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 
 If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear. 
 
 And know what 'tie to pity, and be pitied, — 
 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be," 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 THE fortress of St. Antonio, which has been ren- 
 dered so remarkable in the page of history in the 
 time of the feudal wars, stood on a towering and 
 stupendous height, arising, as it were, majestically out 
 of the very bosom of the ocean, which surrounded it. 
 It was in this fortress that the great Cynan, the chief 
 of one of the five royal tribes was born and educated, 
 where his father had sought refuge during the storm 
 of civil commotions which reign in feudal times : on 
 attaining the age of manhood, he raised an auxiliary 
 army to wage war with Manfred Josephus, the grand- 
 sire of the present reigning one, but was unfortunately 
 defeated^ and obliged to return 5 and after vicissitudes 
 which ^discovered great energy, fortitude, and firm- 
 
286 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 ncss of character, he died in the round tower of the 
 fortress of St. Antonio, universally lamented by his 
 countrymen : and his elegy was pathetically sung by 
 the ancient Bohemian bards, an inscription to his me- 
 mory being placed over the round tower, which has 
 been held so sacred by his successors, that it is kept 
 in a state of preservation to the present day, and is 
 translated in the following remarkable and impressive 
 words : — 
 
 ^^ Oh ! may the son or the great Cynan, mighty and 
 valiant in arms, and of enlarged mind, be with Christ, 
 in the pure adoration of the reign of glory, since the 
 chief of men obtains the social confidence of angels ! 
 As to his life he had not a longing wish— he is, through 
 the meritorious mediation of one of the Unity of Tri- 
 nity, in a purely splendid home in the celestial and 
 eternal world 1" 
 
 It was in the time of Cynan also that tradition re- 
 ports that a beautiful virgin, named Mona, refusing to 
 return the passion of her lover, and flying from his 
 solicitation, was pursued, and her head struck off, by 
 this impetuous suitor ; the head being taken by her 
 uncle, Almagro, and placed again on her shoulders, 
 readily united, and the virgin was miraculously re- 
 stored to life, while her assassin was swallowed up by 
 the earth. On the spot where the head fell, sprang up 
 the wonderful fountain which for so many ages main- 
 tained the reputation of supernatural healing qua- 
 lities. . ^bcipjiiiiiia 'io ^, 
 
 On the approach of Sir Walter to this ever-memora- 
 ble fortress of St. Antonio, the costume of his military 
 habit obtained him admission without having any other 
 signet, or producing any other credentials than the 
 
OK, MARIKrrR MOUUNF, 287 
 
 arms of St. Julian : and leaving his young companiQn 
 in the anti-chamber, within hearing, he was imme4i?» 
 ately conducted into the presence of Zosinski. 
 
 '^ Hail to the mighty conqueror of the Tartars 1" ex- 
 claimed Sir Walter, making a low obedience to Zo- 
 sinski ; who having held a cabinet council on that day, 
 was still in his high authority of state, and seated under 
 a canopy of gold, with all his glittering regalia about 
 him, " Hail to the renowned Zosinski !'* again re- 
 peated Sir Walter, approaching nearer to the footstool 
 of his sp^Iendid throne ; and well knowing how grateful 
 was the incense of flattery offered to the ear of great- 
 ness, and that, however fulsome or unmerited, they 
 never reject it for plain, downright, honest truth. And 
 he smiled most graciously on the gallant warrior bend- 
 ing his knee towards him, bidding him rise from his 
 prostrate condition, which so ill became a brave sol- 
 dier, and the page of the great St. Julian, while he 
 courteously pointed to a seat in the council-chamber, 
 and desired that he would be seated, exclaiming — 
 
 " Brave Sir Walter, whate'er the difference of sta- 
 tion or rank between us, I know thy merits, and res- 
 pect them. Thou sbalt not bend thy knee to me, who 
 in martial fight art my equal — nay, more, thou art 
 my brother, and my friend ! for in the field, all soldiers 
 should be friends and brothers, when their interests 
 are blended in one common cause, and one general sen- 
 timent pervades their breasts ; there is no distinc 
 tion when sword meets sword 1 when firing cannons 
 meet firing cannons ! when shot meets shot 1 when 
 brave hearts meet brave hearts, resolved to die in the 
 cause of liberty and our dear native land 1 when this 
 is the case, there is no difference in rank or condition 
 
288 THB MYS'PERIBS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 of men, my good Sir Walter, and he who makes it 
 such, is neither man nor soldier ! Thou hast jour- 
 neyed far, and must needs want some refreshments, 
 and that thou shalt not lack in the fortress of St* An- 
 tonio. Hast thou brought any attendants with thee ?" 
 
 To which Sir Walter, now being seated by the side 
 of Zosinski, and highly gratified at the reception he 
 had met with on his arrival, even before he knew the 
 nature of his errand, or the petition he had to prefer 
 to him, replied in the following manner : — / 
 
 *^ A youth of noble parentage, and honourable birth, 
 is, mighty sir, the only follower of my now humble 
 and fallen fortunes — Sir Orville Faulkner, the son of 
 the gallant lord who perished in the battle of Armada ; 
 I saw him unhappy, in the service of the Lady Marga- 
 ret Albino, whose page he was at the castle of St. 
 Clair ; he was too spirited and too noble to be a lady's 
 serving-man, and his bosom burned high to be a sol- 
 dier ! 
 
 «* For he had heard of battles, and he long'd 
 
 To follow to the field some warlike lord ; ^ 
 
 And Heaven soon gtanted what his sire denied,'* 
 
 continued Sir Walter : " seeing the disposition of the 
 brave youth, I enlisted him in the service of the great 
 St. Julian, where his young heart, that so panted for 
 military ardour, would soon have shone in valiant arms, 
 the counterpart of his noble father; but, alas! the 
 growing harvest which I had planned for the young 
 boy, is now blighted and withered in its bloom. St. 
 Julian is no more ! The sun has set on the brightest 
 hero that ever shone in arms !" 
 
 Sir Walter paused ; while a tear fell over his cheek; 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULIME. 289 
 
 at the recollection of the happiness he once enjoyed 
 with St. Julian ; when, favoured by fortune, and victo- 
 rious in martial exploits, he shone the conqueror of 
 the Austrian chiefs ! when after the battle's heat was 
 over, he retired to his tent with a few of his most cho- 
 sen and gallant followers ; when he threw off his most 
 stately robes, and warlike manners were put aside, and 
 entered into the pleasures which he derived from their 
 society, as brother -soldiers and as men ; but, alas ! 
 these happy hours were now no more ! and these glo-i ■ 
 rious conquests and smiling" victories had faded all in 
 the death of the lamented hero ; and so had faded the 
 bright prospects and smiling hopes of Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen : and whether that the deep grief which now 
 possessed his soul, was perceived by Zosinski, or whe» 
 ther, impelled by stronger motives than merely the 
 knowledge that he possessed of the bravery of Sir 
 Walter's character, he chose to distinguish him with 
 attention due to his exalted merits ; but it was cer- 
 tain that the Tartarian chief evinced the most courte- 
 ous'-like behaviour towards him, ordering his vassals 
 to conduct him to an apartment, fit for a gallant sol- 
 dier, and St. Julian's page ! and to prepare a banquet, 
 suited to the quality of his guest, which order was im- 
 mediately obeyed. Zosinski waved his hand, to pre- 
 vent Sir Walter from again prostrating himself at th^ 
 foot of the throne, where the mighty conqueror was 
 seated ; and Zosinski exclaimed, — 
 
 " Forbear, Sir Walter, this humiliating mark of 
 deference to one who knows so well thy truth and va- 
 lour, and thy unshaken fidelity to thy great master, — 
 who was, indeed, worthy of thy homage, and thy love ! 
 and truly dt^ X kngfj that St. Julian prized it. Go 
 13 ^ ? ^- ' 2 ^ 
 
290 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 then, brave soldier, and feast thee at the banquet, 
 which my vassals shall get ready for thee and the 
 youth thou hast spoken of, as having enlisted in the 
 service of thy master, — this son of the brave Faulkner, 
 whom well I ftnew ; I do beseech thee, let not the 
 young boy thirst or hunger in the fortress of St. An- 
 tonio : and when thou art sufficed, return to me anon, 
 and I will attend to the petition thou art going to prof- 
 fer, and will readily grant thy suit, provided you do 
 not stray beyond the limits of my power. Goto;'! 
 will see thee when thou hast refreshed thee, and have 
 much converse with thee on the nature of thy business, 
 and the purpose of thy plans, at which 1 partly guess, 
 but will not mention till thy return from the banquet ; 
 when thou mayest disclose thy thoughts niost freely.'' 
 On these words. Sir Walter bowing low, and placing 
 his hand on his breast, which was the custom of the 
 country, retired with an attendant vassal, from the 
 presence of Zosinski, who conducted him and Sir Or- 
 ville Faulkner into a spacious hall, lighted with the 
 most brilliant tapers, and hung round with the trophies 
 of war, and the names of the heroes who had achieved 
 high and mighty victories, or died on the field of glory | 
 and, amongst the foremost of these. Sir Walter de- 
 scried ' Zosinski' inscribed in letters of massy gold ; 
 a table was spread^ in the centre of this apartment 
 with the choicest delicacies, and cups filled with wine of 
 the most delicious flavour, were placed at each corner 
 of the spacious board ; there were, however, two ad- 
 ditional covers placed on the table, which, the vassal 
 informed Sir Walter, were for two stranger-guests, 
 who had lately arrived at the fortress of St. Antonio, 
 from a far distant country, and with his goodly leave^ 
 
OR, MARIB^fTE MOULINE. ^l 
 
 would enjoy the pleasure of his company for an hour 
 or so, by taking a seat at the banquet ; that by order 
 of his liege master, he was sent hither to know if such 
 guests would be intrusive or disagreeable to his 
 feelings. 
 
 To which, Sir Walter replied, — 
 
 " If it is the goodly pleasure of thy mighty master, 
 that his guests should be entertained at his hospitable 
 board, what right have I (who am nothing more than 
 a stranger) to refuse his great bidding : would it not 
 be the basest presumption, in one whose fortunes are 
 so humble, to say, they were not welcome to share in 
 the munificence of the great conqueror? I beseech 
 you, let the strangers forthwith take a place at the 
 table, and I will await their coming.'' 
 
 The vassal retired, and in a few minutes ushered in 
 the strangers, but certainly they were no strangers to 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen, or to Sir Orville Faulkner ; 
 for in the person of one they descried their fellow-tra- 
 veller the old Jew pedlar, and in the other, his young 
 companion, the wandering minstrel : and the astonish- 
 ment and surprise of each ^arty may very naturally be 
 conceived, when the Jew, who had first made his ad- 
 vances into the centre of the room, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Gallant strangers, we are again well met !'* 
 
 To which, Sir Walter, in a less cordial accent, (for 
 he considered himself as being officially watched and 
 pursued by these men) replied, — 
 
 " We are met, sir, but whether it be well or no, re- 
 mains to be proved.'* 
 
 To which remark, the Jew, very unceremoniously 
 taking his place at the table, coolly and placid'y 
 plied, — 
 
2d2 
 
 TUB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 " And why should it not be well with us, sir ? I owe 
 no ill will to those who are my friends ; and to my 
 enemies none, but the prayer that I have preferred to 
 heaven, that I may vanquish them : and soon I shall ! 
 yes, I have that within me that assures me that the 
 hour of retribution is near at hand. Will it please you, 
 then, sir, to sit and calm your choler, which, in truth, 
 I do not merit ; for had I been the enemy of Sir Wal- 
 ter De Ruthen, I had not encountered him in the for- 
 tress of St. Antonio," 
 
 This was said in a tone of the most commanding 
 dignity, and as onein the habit of commanding others ; 
 and, although an apparent suavity of manners was 
 preserved, it was evident that the Jew considered both 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen and Sir Orville Faulkner his 
 inferiors, and that, however strange and mysterious it 
 might appear, he possessed a strong and powerful in- 
 fluence in the fortress of St. Antonio ; for the vassals 
 that waited at the banquet always served the Jew and 
 the minstrel first, observing towards the former the 
 most profound respect and servile obedience, which 
 much astonished, and confirmed the suspicions of Sir 
 Walter, that, in the words of honest Michael, arose to 
 his recollection, " That neither the Jew nor the min- 
 strel were what they seemed to be ;" and that as they 
 had yet done him no injury, it was impolitic and un- 
 wise in them to offend those who offered no offence to 
 him : and the glass circulating more freely. Sir Wal- 
 ter, who was himself a cheerful companion, impercep- 
 tibly abandoned the reserve and chilling apathy he had 
 at first adopted towards the strangers, who themselves 
 forgot that there was any difference of rank or station 
 between them ; and, after the luxuriant oieal Vjras 
 
OR, MAIETTE MOULINE. 293 
 
 ended, and a fresh supply of wine was brought on the 
 table, entered into a more lively and ' animated dis- 
 course ; and the Jew, turning to the young minstrel, 
 begged that he would beguile the time with a speci- 
 men of his vocal abilities, " for though young, you 
 are always a bard of ancient times, Ferdinand," ob- 
 served the Jew ; ** so please you, gallant strangers, he 
 will give you a ditty most suited to your tastes : war 
 or love, — which shall be the burthen of the minstrel's 
 song, gentlemen ?" 
 
 " Why, by my sword and buckler, that can I not 
 answer thee,'* cried Sir Walter, with a jocose smile ; 
 " for the one, though she has been the mistress of my 
 soul for many a long and weary campaign, hath played 
 me but a scurvy trick after all, having worn out the 
 flower of my youth in her goodly service ; I never 
 minded when she handled me roughly, for a soldier is 
 accustomed to pillow his head on his knapsack, rather 
 than repose on leaves of balmy roses, — I say, I had 
 freely forgiven the saucy jade, had she not also played 
 me treacherously; for never had that bright star fallen 
 or been obscured in its transcendant light, with which 
 it so illuminated a wondering world, had not a treach- 
 erous foe been concealed in the camp of St. Julian. 
 Of war, then, do not sing, young minstrel, lest I sink 
 into sober melancholy, which so ill becomes the plea- 
 sures of this jovial meeting: and with love do not 
 sicken me, for that is a shadow ; it passes o*^r the 
 brow of morning youth, like a gay dream, that doth 
 charm us with the sweet colours of a fairy landscape, 
 and then, like the rainbow, doth quickly vaaish from 
 our view. No, young minstrel, do not sing of love, I 
 
294 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 pray thee, for I have beheld its influence on a deep and 
 manly heart, exerted with tyrannic sway ; and I like 
 nor love nor beauty, for they. do make men idiots, and 
 forget themselves." 
 
 A deep struggled sigh burst from the Jew ; al- 
 though he evidently endeavoured to conceal his emotion 
 from the observation of Sir Walter De Ruthen : and, 
 ' after a pause, he exclaimed,— 
 
 " Your remark, though severe, is certainly just ; 
 the passion you describe does, indeed, but resemble a 
 shadow in the hearts of some men, and the colours of 
 the rainbow fadeth not so quickly. But, in woman's 
 heart beats it not more constant ? ah, no I woman is by 
 nature fickle, and false as they are fair ; at least f found 
 one so, and she was fair as the summer blush that 
 steals on the young rose, ere the bud expands with 
 riper charms, or delicate as lilies half unblown. Come, 
 boy, sing ; I find my spirits growing dull, and .would 
 not yield to thoughts that are unpleasing.'' 
 
 The minstrel, who had unslung his harp, now gent- 
 ly touched the strings, selecting a beautiful melody 
 which was adapted to the following words, and which 
 he sang with a simple elegance, uniting energy with 
 expression, and with a taste and judgment that sufii- 
 ciently proved to his gratified and delighted auditors 
 that lie was completely master of his professional cha- 
 racter :— • 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 *' Though time hath not wreath'd 
 My temples with snow j 
 Though age hath not breathM 
 A soell o'er my brow j 
 
OR, MAUIETTE xMOULINE. 295 
 
 Yet care's withered fingers 
 
 Press on me with pain j 
 The fleeting pulse lingers. 
 
 And lingers in vain. 
 
 The eyes which behold thee, — 
 
 Their brightness is flown 3 
 The arms which enfold thee. 
 
 Enfeebled are grown ; 
 And friendship hath left me. 
 
 By fortune estranged 5 
 All, all,4s bereft me, 
 
 For thou, too, art changed. 
 
 Yet dark ills have clouded 
 
 The dawning in tearej 
 Adversity shrouded 
 
 My ripening yeai-s : 
 Life's'path, wild and dreary. 
 
 Draws nigb to its close j 
 Heart-broken and weary, 
 
 I sigh for repose. 
 
 The world shall caress thee, 
 
 When I cease to be ; 
 And suns rise to bless thee. 
 
 Which smile not for me : 
 And hearts shall adore thee. 
 
 And bend at thy shrine ; 
 But none bow before thee 
 
 So truly as mine.'* 
 
 At the conclusion of this ballad, a silence prevailed 
 that reflected a greater compliment to the sweet melo- 
 dist than whole volumes of praise ; for he had pene- 
 trated the hearts of his hearers, and excited the most 
 powerful interest. The Jew, during his delightful 
 performance, had remained absorbed in the deepest 
 thought ; and to avoid any particular notice that he 
 might draw upon him, he had pulled his large slouch 
 
 ■i 
 
296 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR*, 
 
 hat entirely over his face, which before it had nearly 
 concealed; at length, in tremulous accents, he ap- 
 plauded the young minstrel for the justice he had 
 done to one of his most favourite compositions, ex- 
 claiming, — " Ferdinand, had you spared me that me- 
 lody to-night, methinks it would have been as well; 
 though you never performed better than you have now 
 done before these gallant strangers. What think ye, 
 sirs, of my minstrel, he hath a pipe that would not 
 disgrace the larkennet, which is the pride of all village 
 maids in Bohemia.'' 
 
 Sir Walter and Sir Orville both expressed the plea- 
 sure they had received from the minstrel's perform- 
 ance ; who, apparently proud of their approbation, per- 
 formed several others with equal success : after which, 
 he set his harp aside, and entered into conversation 
 with Sir Orville Faulkner, who being youthful, like 
 himself, was more congenial with his own habits and 
 age ; and was more suited to his taste than those of 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen, whom he imagined at different 
 times, eyed him with peculiar symptoms of curiosity, 
 H" not suspicion ; the more when the Jew suddenly and 
 abruptly turned towards him, with 
 
 " Ferdinand, I have been disputing with this gal- 
 lant stranger, on the situation of the castle of St. Clair, 
 so long for distant ages deemed impregnable to the 
 attack of an invidious enemy ; but I do not hold it so, 
 when such weak and puerile soldiery encompass its 
 walls, — and the leaders at the head of the garrison, are 
 the Lady Margaret Albino and the Cardinal Benvo- 
 lio ! the one, I know to be powerless, when she is at- 
 tacked on the weakest side, which is vanity, and a 
 more dangerous quality, than even that in woman, 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOCLINE. 297 
 
 which is ambition ; and the other you know to be a 
 false, treacherous, and deceitful villain, who in the 
 guise of sacred religion, professes what he never feels 
 and thus deludes, while he disgraces the high autho- 
 rity which that '; foolish woman has invested in his 
 bands, and which ill becomes the garb of sanctity tha^ 
 he wears. The Cardinal Benvolio!^ — my very soul 
 sickens and abhors the very name of the saintly hypo- 
 crite r is he not, Ferdinand, a hoary traitor to his call- 
 ing ? tell these gallant strangers, that thou knowest 
 him to be such : whatever his pretensions to undissem- 
 bled zeal : he is a traitor and a villain !" 
 
 " k traitor !" exclaimed Sir Walter ; " the Cardi- 
 nal Benvolio a traitor ! and to the Emperor Jose- 
 phus !— ah ! couldst thou, indeed, once but prove him 
 such, I would fall down and worship thee for* the 
 blissful tidings." 
 
 To which, the Jew replied,— 
 
 " What greater traitor can he be who defiles the 
 holy church of half her dignities, and appropriates to 
 the vilest purposes of mercenary principles and base 
 lucre, the monies received from the national supplies 
 for the uses of the people at large, whom he has sworn 
 to protect under his high authority ? — I say, the man 
 doing this, is not only a traitor to his sovereign and his 
 country, but he trespasses against God himself : this, 
 the pious cardinal has done in gratitude to the man 
 who raised his humble fortunes, and exalted him to 
 the high place of authority which he was unworthy to 
 fill ; and although Josephus hath done me mortal in- 
 jury, — and he and I must one day meet in mortal con- 
 test, yet, I will proclaim the injuries that he hath sus- 
 tained from this canting priest, to be such as to de< 
 13 2 p 
 
2^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Dounce vengeance on his saintly head, which now 
 stands nodding o^er a scaffold, the just punishment of 
 a crime so odious : for this will be the fate of the Car- 
 dinal Benvolio ! 
 
 For other crimes that he hath been guilty of ! — ah ! 
 just heaven ! do I not feel them now in this beating 
 Ijieart ?— a mother and a daughter ! hath he not, by his 
 (pursed sophistry, perverted the minds both of a wife 
 to turn apostate to the memory of a gallant husband 
 slain,— and a daughter, an innocent, and young, and 
 lovely daughter to forego a solemn contract to him 
 whom her heart loveth ? Yes,— in spite of the struggles 
 'twixt love and duty made, Augustina still remember- 
 eth the blessed holy eve, on which her virgin faith 
 was plighted ! it was on the eve of St. Marco ! and 
 mass was just over; the pealing anthem sung the 
 note of praise ; and those who had joined in the pious 
 orgies addressed to the deity they adored, were tran- 
 quil and composed, with souls attuned to soft and 
 chaste thoughts of peace, that reigned for evermore, 
 where angels only formed the heavenly choral train ! 
 One of the number that composed the white-robed ves- 
 tals who joined the lovely psalmsters, was the daugh- 
 ter of Albino : but she was pale on that evening, and 
 her cheek was tinged with a fainter blush than was 
 its radiant hue at all other times ; and her azure eyes, 
 full of blue, like the celestial colour of the atmosphere 
 when no passing cloud e'er dims its lustre, were gently 
 upraised to the eternal Giver of the precious light ; and 
 her soul seemed fixed in one unchanging thought that 
 there was another and a better world to come : — at this 
 moment, she remained the last of all the vestal train- 
 in that moment, more precious to me than all the mo- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 2^9 
 
 ments of my past life, and more glorious than all the 
 glories I have obtainecl in war! — I approached the fair, 
 celestial, trembling maid ; long had she struggled 
 with the infant passion in her breast, nor was that 
 passion unhallowed or impure, or unknown to her au- 
 gust parents. 
 
 Augustina, uttered I, my duty calls me to a distant 
 land I I must away to battles, which love of thee hath 
 led me on to. This is no hour of dissimulation. I 
 have thy virgin heart, and thou hast mine, sweet 
 maiden : and by yon moon-beam, the queen of heaven, 
 now smiliagfon that beauteous face, so strong's my love 
 and so chaste my passion, I would not barter it or even 
 exchange this holy love I bear, for the proudest she 
 that ever moved in courtly state, or glittered on a 
 throne ! Should I fall in battle, Augustina, this beat* 
 ing heart, though cold in death, shall still be thine ! 
 and when angels waft my spirit to eternal bliss, I'll 
 breathe one parting prayer for thee !— Swear, but to 
 me, one sacred promise,— that if, returning victorious 
 from the field, thou, Augustina, will then be mine ! 
 
 The maiden took the oath, and I never saw her 
 more. Ye gods ! can woman be so false ?— has she 
 renounced her vows, her promised vows, made in the 
 sight of heaven ?— have then the arts of a vile, canting 
 priest at last prevailed on her to turn apostate to St. 
 Julian's honest truth ?'' 
 
 " St. Julian !" uttered Sir Walter, in a voice of 
 wonder and astonishment, not to be described : " thou, 
 St. Julian ! I'll not believe, until I see thy face : yet, 
 oh ! my full heart would still cherish a hope that the 
 rumour is false that he was slain : if then, thou art in- 
 
300 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR ; 
 
 deed my mighty master, throw off the habit that so 
 disgraces Jthee, and at thy feet 1*11 kneel, thy faithful 
 servant ever !" 
 
 This was no sooner said than done ; for at these 
 words^ the supposed Jew pedlar unfastened a steel 
 clasp, that was affixed to the leather belt that was 
 round his waist, and discovered, to the enraptured eyes 
 of his faithful page, the finely proportioned and sym- 
 metrical form of the Bohemian conquerer, with the 
 bright star of his order, that sparkled with diamonds, 
 on his left breast : and throwing off the slouched hat, 
 and grey beard, at the same moment, clusters of his 
 brown luxuriant hair fell over his fair and open brows, 
 and, extending wide his arms to Sir Walter, he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Now, friend and brother of my heart, knowest 
 thou not this form and face ? not from the dead, indeed, 
 come forth, but saved from the slaughtered heap that 
 lay strewed around me, by the courage and activity 
 of that brave youth who sits beside me ; who, watching 
 the opportunity, when my gallant beast did fall be- 
 neath his burden, pierced with a deadly arrow from an 
 Austrian trooper in the left battalion, did quickly doff 
 the garment that he wore, and in the very thick of 
 smoke and sulphur, when no mortal eye could e'er 
 distinguish friend from foe, by reason of the dire con- 
 fusion and the loud cannon's roar, — and clash of swords 
 did pierce the vaulted heavens ! then bore he St. Ju- 
 lian on his lusty shoulders ! for I was faint with loss 
 of blood, and pierced with wounds, which had been 
 mortal ones, but for the watchful spirit that did hover 
 ov«r me in the form of woman's kindness, and woman's 
 pitying care ! for Ferdinand had heard much of this 
 
'Zy„ 'iy(^^j!7.^/?y 
 
 
 
 TubU'sTied by J<zque^~ ScWrcffJit.lTewinpiim JBait? . 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 301 
 
 wonderous female, who had the art of healing deadly 
 wounds that had poison in them ; and one such 1 had, 
 'twas nearest ray heart, but she did sprinkle balmy 
 leaves on the smart, which she had culled in a particu- 
 lar shrubbery, and, with her mystic art, she compressed 
 the juice, and with the leaves, gently laid it on the 
 smarting wound, which quickly did abate its feverish 
 anguish ; and my eyes did close in sleep, the first I 
 e'er had known for tortured hours, beneath the cot- 
 tage roof of the kind woman to whom I owed the re- 
 covery of the deadly wound I had received from the 
 poisoned arrow. When I was able to journey forward, 
 we took disguises, both myself and Ferdinand ; and 
 found none so convenient, or better suited for the pur- 
 pose of concealment, than the habit of a Jew pedlar and 
 a wandering minstrel : for I was anxious for thy fate, 
 my brave De Ruthen, and fearful, that if arriving 
 with the stores to the camp, ere the enemy had quitted 
 the ensanguined ])lains, and tents which I had left burn- 
 ing, that thou and all thy brave followers would fall 
 the victims of their deadly vengeance : and so favoured 
 by the deep disguise I wore, I journeyed forward, and 
 called at the neighbouring hamlets as we passed along, 
 and at the cafees^ and, on pretence of exposing our va- 
 rious goods for sale, could make enquiries of how the 
 wars were going on ?— who were the victors in this 
 bloody battle, and who the vanquished ? without being 
 suspected that we were the friends or foes of either 
 party. I remember, we had alighted at a wretched 
 hovel, to refresh ourselves and steeds, were a painted 
 sign hung, almost in tatters, over a door, which invited 
 the traveller to enter its dreary walls, who could not 
 find a better shelter : it was a lonely place, and far retired 
 
302 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 from the haunts of busy men ; so, we ventured to ring 
 at the gate, — and a withered hag came out, and flatly 
 told us, we could have no shelter there. And why 
 not, dame ? cried I ; ^ve have monies for that which 
 we stand in need of ; why, then, dost thou refuse to 
 travellers, passing 'hither, and about their business, 
 and who tarry not long in one place, what they call for, 
 so they can pay thee thy reckoning. 
 
 To which, the crabbed dame replied, — 
 
 A murrain light on thee, old Jew ! wilt thou rtot 
 take thy answer, and begone ? must thou needs be 
 wanting that which I have not to give ? yet, by my 
 good faith, thou shoudlst ne'er be starving, could my 
 old man and I but get an handful of the precious stores 
 and provisions which some waggons are loaded with, 
 that do stand, horses and all, behind our hay-stack, 
 in the great yard ! but, a murrain to them who would 
 touch any thing belonging to them, if they wanted to 
 keep their necks out of a halter. 1 would ds sooii 
 think of having to do with the devil, as with the soldi- 
 ers, who have gobbled up all I had in the larder, like 
 so many hungry pigs, and now they are soakiri^ up 
 my whole barrel of good strong ale ! 
 
 For which, they will requite thee handsomely, no 
 doubt, old dame, answered I, Which side are they on ? 
 they say St. Julian is dead, so they are for the Enii- 
 peror, 1 suppose I — wishing to gain all the intelligence 
 I could, from the old woman, without seeding to ex- 
 press too much anxiety about it. 
 
 The emperor ! that is a likely matter, cried the 
 old woman ; why, I tell thee, old Jew, they be all Bo- 
 hemian soldiers, every mother's son of them ! and one 
 of them be the fiercest game coCk I ever clapt my two 
 
OR, MAllIETTE MOULINE. 303 
 
 good-looking eyes upon ! and he do swear, itnd do 
 look so terrible, because the supper was not quite rea- 
 dy to cram into his maw, that I told my old man, the 
 devil might carry in the supper, not I ! a parcel of 
 greedy gutted wolves, that would no more mind swal- 
 lowing up a roasted ox, if it was set before them, than 
 I should do in snapping up the leg of a chicken ! 
 
 What, are they feasting yet, old dame ? cried I. 
 
 Truly, are they feasting yet ! uttered the old dame ; 
 and I marvel much, if they will not tarry at our wee 
 bit crannie, till the first cock crows, and never be the 
 better for their cramming of their maws with my best 
 black hens, that my old man made me wring the necks 
 of, when they came in, seeing they were soldiers ; and 
 in these sad and awful times, we are mortally afraid 
 of them. 
 
 I had no other idea, my brave De Ruthen, con- 
 tinued St. Julian, " but it was you who had stopped 
 at this wretched hovel with the weary soldiery, and 
 that you was the fierce, terrible-looking game cock, 
 whose warlike appearance had so fearfully alarmed 
 the old dame ; but, I was mistaken, for I very easily 
 prevailed with her for the paltry consideration of a few 
 stivers, to give me an admission to enter her abode, 
 and take pot luck, (as she termed it,) with her and her 
 old man, off* the scraps that the hungry cannibals had 
 left them ; and glad of any pretext whatever, to gain 
 my purpose, I very willingly accepted of the offer of 
 her humble meal ; and leaving our steeds with the old 
 hostler, whose ragged filthy appearance was sufficient 
 to denote that his extreme poverty was the sole cause 
 of his capacity here, Ferdinand and I taking our packs 
 on our ba^c^^s, were very soon introduced into the inte- 
 
304 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CIAIR ; 
 
 rior of this miserable caf6e, where I had no sooner 
 gained an entrance, than I sought means to get ac- 
 quainted with the soldiery : for one of them came with 
 an empty flaggon to have replenished, and seeing our 
 packs, eyed us with some symptoms of curiosity. 
 
 Save you, sirs, uttered he, I see that you are travel- 
 lers, like ourselves : though we serve in a different call- 
 ing, what matters that ? since every man must live, and 
 live by his trade: so please you, sirs, walk in, and 
 take a cheerful noggin with us, we are no man's ene- 
 my, save those that are the enemies to the masters that 
 we serve ; and it does not matter a single stiver^ to 
 gentlemen of your calling, whether the emperor gra- 
 ces a crown or a scaffold : — does it, good sirs ? 
 
 I was on my guard, and very cautiously, though 
 good humoredly, replied, — 
 
 Not a stiver, so we sell our wares ! 
 
 Come on, then, cried the soldier, and you shall not 
 lack a horn of ale, nor a whifFof the best segar that e'er 
 was manufactured on this side of Vienna ! 
 
 We very readily availed ourselves of the soldier's 
 invitation ; and taking care to carry our packs along 
 with us, the badge of our profession, followed him into 
 a smoky, dirty crib, full of the stoutest blades my eyes 
 e'er witnessed, sitting around a table, plentifully sup- 
 plied with flaggons and segars : at the head of the ta- 
 ble, sat one who appeared their leader ; for in that 
 light he very shortly distinguished himself, by calling 
 them to order, and reminding them that the hour was 
 very rapidly advancing, when they must be jogging. 
 Not, cried he, but we have half an hour to spare, to 
 pass a glass round with these honest gentlemen, who, 
 like ourselves, do not find time move with leaden 
 
OR, MARIETTE xMOULINE. 305 
 
 wings. Come, sirs, will it please you, drink, for you 
 are freely welcome to share in what we have got on the 
 table, though, belike, [it is not of the most inviting 
 quality : but it is the best that our queer little host, 
 h^fpe, can give us ; and it would be unreasonable to 
 expect more. 
 
 I instantly perceived something in this man supe* 
 rior to thd station which he held ; for his habit was 
 merely that of a Bohemian soldier : and that^ by some 
 accident, he was placed at the head of this body of 
 men^ that were equal in all respects, with himself, 
 except that he appeared to have more power. There 
 was besides, a' bold, distinguishing feature in Uiis 
 man's countenance and manner, that bespoke an intre- 
 pidity of character, most aptly sufted to the arms he 
 wore : and I soon entered into the spirit of his eonver- 
 sation, on the wars and tumults, of the present state of 
 the country, taking care, that I would ride with nei- 
 ther party, till convinced, by whose authority he was 
 now acting, and in whose service he was then em- 
 ployed. 
 
 And, as the glass passed freely round, and I heard 
 the name of the Bohemian soldier, pronounced by his 
 comrades, as Steevy Macgreggor, I ventured care- 
 fully to ask of him, how the wars had ended ; and 
 whether it was true, that the Bohemian conqueror had 
 been defeated by the army of the Emperor Josephus, 
 and, that the great St. Julian had been slain in battle f 
 to which, he replied, — 
 
 Yes, by holy Paul, thou hast heard rightly : the 
 great St. Julian has fallen ! and the Emperor Jose- 
 phus has defeated his forces ; in one word, he has con- 
 quered the brightest hero that ever shone in arms I Sir 
 13 2 a 
 
306 THE MYBTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Walter De Ruthen, that brave warrior, was just re- 
 turning from the castle of St. Clair, with much sup- 
 pMes, to the famished troops ; and after many mishaps 
 that befel us on our journey, we arrived at the camp 
 with the rich laden stores, only to witness the desola- 
 tion and defeat of its mighty master. The army was 
 defeated ; St. Julian fallen ; and the brave Sir Wal- 
 ter reckless of his own safety, and overwhelmed with 
 deep grief at the loss of his mighty master, rushed 
 to the field, to search for his mangled remains, and 
 give him a decent burial, honouring his loved ashes 
 to. the very last ; and in this awful and sacred cere- 
 mony, I left him. Employed by his commands, I jour- 
 neyed forward, and made all possible expedition to 
 convey the stores far from the camp of St. Julian, and 
 from the power of the invidious foe. Thus far I am 
 safe ; but know not whither to go from hen«e, fear- 
 ful of being surprised by treachery : for this reason, 
 I alighted at this obscure and miserable looking cafie^ 
 being a place least likely to create suspicion. 
 
 The abrupt entrance of the landlord put an end to 
 this interesting conversation, between me and the 
 brave soldier ; but I had gained all the intelligence I 
 wanted, except the knowing of thy fate, my brave De 
 Ruthen, and this, it was scarcely possible I should 
 learn from him who knew it not himself : but, 1 soon 
 found means to take him apart, and discover to him, 
 though not my person, that I was the friend of St 
 Julian ; and would, by the instructions I gave him, 
 preserve his property inviolate from the hands of his 
 -enemies. 
 
 On this, I produced the great signet of the mighty 
 «hief, Zosin«ki, whose faithful ally was St. Julian ; and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 367 
 
 bade Macgreggor hasten with the stores to the fortress 
 of St. Antonio, where, shewing the order he had for 
 adnoission, he would be protected, with all his brave 
 followers from the malice of the emperor : and I had 
 the satisfaction of seeing them all depart, before I 
 quitted the caf^e^ without once suspecting that I had 
 any secret intelligence communicated to me by the 
 soldiery, or that I was not what 1 had represented 
 myself to be : and journeying on the road some leagues 
 hence, thou knowest, De Ruthen, that I chanced to 
 encounter thee ; and though my full heart bounded 
 with transport, to embrace thee, I thought tt unwise 
 to disclose myself too soon, when so near the territo- 
 ries of the emperor, who had employed spies every 
 where, (having heard the flying rumour, that I had 
 escaped, and that I was not slain in the battle, as was 
 at first supposed) to detect me, in the Iwibit of a Bo- 
 hemian soldier, which disguise, it was reported, that 
 I then assumed. Still, it was my fixed resolve to fol- 
 low thee, De Ruthen, wheresoever thou went, and to- 
 discover myself to thee, at a moment, when both of u» 
 should be safe, in the protection of the Tartarian con- 
 queror; and this moment, most happily, has at last 
 arrived. You remember the signet that I gave thee, 
 one night in my tent, De Ruthen ? 1 told thee, that if 
 by any misehance, St. Julian fell into the hands of his 
 enemies, that this signet would carry thee in safety 
 to the fortress of St. Antonio, beneath whose battle- 
 ments my great father died ; and this knowing, Zosin- 
 ski doth bear n>e great good-will and favour : he know- 
 eth, too, all my plans, and my great resolves ; and 
 will furthermore assist me, in regaining the rights that 
 1 have lost by treachery. The cause of my so suddenly 
 
308 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLA4R; 
 
 quitting the cafee, that you conducted me to, was Uie 
 thought that you might have ta^en a different route, 
 De Ruthon, than to the fortress of @t Antonio ; and 
 with speed I pursued you through the wild and dreary 
 deserts of this country ; well knowing, that it would 
 not be long ere you would arrive ; — and here we are, 
 my brave and worthy follower, beyond the reach of 
 fortune's spite ; safe in the hands of our allies, who 
 have sworn to join me in revenge, against the malice 
 •f my invidious foes ! Yes ! the cardinal shall know, 
 and dearly to his cost shall find — St. Julian yet is 
 living ! while the haughty and inflexible Margaret 
 shall confess, I was never unworthy to possess her 
 daughter's hand,— though, she in scorn, refused my 
 proffered suit." 
 
 Some conversation now passed, of the most private 
 nature, with St. Julian and his faithful page ; during 
 which, at intervals, and in low, whispering accents, 
 St. Julian pointed to his friend, the minstrel, who had 
 furnished him with the most secret intelligence, res- 
 pecting the affairs of the Lady Margaret Albino, and 
 the Cardinal Benvolio ; which so greatly surprised 
 and astonished Sir Walter De Ruthen, that he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " By my sword and buckler, the thought did strike 
 me once, that it were so : and that the voice of yon 
 minstrel youth, wer«, in some sort, familiar to my ear ; 
 the name, too, of Ferdinand, did attract my notice ; 
 for that was the name of the blood-stained knight, 
 that did stalk forth in the armory, whife I held a con- 
 ference there, with the lady of Albino, Yes, I well re- 
 membcTj the words he uttered were such as to blanch 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 300 
 
 the lady's cheek with sickly fear j and she did tremble 
 and turn pale, as he went out of her presence.' ' 
 
 " But it was not fear that made a coward of her," 
 cried St. Julian, ^^ didst thou but know what I do ; 
 but conscience ! for that ' makes cowards of us all I* 
 
 An attendant vassal now came with a message from 
 his liege lord, requesting a private audience with St. 
 Julian and Sir Walter, ere they retired for the night, 
 on business of the utmost moment : with which re- 
 quest, they almost instantly complied. St. Julian, as 
 he went out of the banquet chamber, turning towards 
 Sir Orville with a most gracious smile, while he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Farewell, young sir, if we do not encounter each 
 ^other again to night* My trusty page has informed 
 me of your excellence and worth, and that it was thy 
 wish to enter into the service of St. Julian ; and so 
 thou shalt, brave youth ! ere long, I will spur thee on 
 to the field of glory, where thy young heart shall swell 
 with rapture, at the loud trumpet's call ; and learn the 
 art of war I" 
 
 To which. Sir Orville, rising from his seat, and bow- 
 ing with profound respect to the martial hero, diffi- 
 dently replied, — 
 
 " 1 am much bounden to you, my gracious lord, foif 
 the estimation in which you are pleased to place my 
 poor services, and the favourable report, the gallant ||L 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen has given you of my humble 
 merits. When I quitted the service of the Lady Mar- 
 garet Albino, I had but one proud, aspiring hope — to 
 enlist under the banners of the great St. Julian ! and 
 with a heart panting to behold the glory and the pride 
 of great Bohemia's smiling land. I need not say, oh, 
 
# 
 
 i310 THE MVSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 mighty sir ! bow great the grief my heart sustained, to 
 find the scene changed of all thy former conquests ; 
 and instead of joy, lamentation o'er St. Julian's fall! 
 judge of my transport, to find thee living still, to bless 
 thy faithful vassals, and mayestHhou still live long to 
 bless them with thy presence, and reign with undimi- 
 nished lustre, o'er a smiling land of peace and plenty." 
 
 " I thank thy kindly wishes, valiant youth," cried 
 St. Julian, much pleased with this address ; *^ and thou 
 shall ne'er repent the zeal thou bearest towards me, 
 when fortune favours my designs.*' 
 
 With these words, St. Julian and Sir Walter quit- 
 ted the banquet chamber, and the two young men were 
 left together, whose similarity of disposition very soon 
 made them enter into the most unreserved con versa- , 
 tion with each other, and led them to the subject of 
 the mysteries of St. Clair ; one of which was, that Sir 
 Orville expressed his horror of the proceedings of the 
 Lady Margaret Albino and the Cardinal Benvolio 
 with respect to the appropriation of the Lord Albino's 
 property and wealthy possessions, to the uses and con- 
 venience of the crafty, designing, and insiduous priest y 
 depriving her own lovely daughter of the just inherit- 
 ance in her own right, that devolved to her, on the 
 death of her noble father, and the gallant, young Fer- 
 nando ; *' And, if I might not be deemed guilty of pre- 
 sumption, sir," added Sir Orville, " 1 do much mar- 
 vel how you found the means to escape from the castle 
 of St. Clair, when so many watchful eyes were on 
 you." 
 
 To which, Ferdinand very quickly replied, — 
 
 " By the same means that I so oft have entered into 
 the presence of the Lady Margaret, but never but 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 3ll 
 
 once addressed her in speech ; and that once, when 
 8ir Walter De Ruthen was in private conference with 
 her in the armory : namely, — I assumed the form of 
 the hlood-stained knight, which in reality I once was, 
 when the murderous hand of Ben volio laid me welterinff 
 at his feet in the western turret of the castle, with the 
 life-blood gushing like fountains from ifi[y panting 
 heart." 
 
 " Almighty powers !** cried Sir Orville, " and was 
 this man guilty of such a crime ? Was the Cardinal 
 Benvolio the midnight assassin who aimed the dagger 
 at thy heart in the western turret of the castle on the 
 night of the carnival ?" 
 
 " I will prove to you that he was," uttered Ferdi- 
 .nand ; and lowering his voice to a whisper, he ad- 
 dressed Sir Orville in these words : 
 
312 THE MYSTERtES OF ST. C<LAIR 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 " Her history may be told in one word— Love! 
 And what has love e^er been to woman^s heart. 
 But misery ? stiU she wished — it was a dying fancy, 
 Which betrayed, how much, though known. 
 How false its god had been — 
 To send her pictured semblance to the false one. 
 S3ie hoped — how love will hope~>^it might recal 
 He young and lovely girl his cruelty 
 Had worn to this dim shadow ; it might wake 
 Those thousand fond and kind remembrances, whieh he 
 Had utterly abandoned : while 
 The true heart he had treasured next his own, 
 A little time, had never ceased to beat 
 For only him, until it broke !'* 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 '* WHEN I came into the service of the Albino fa- 
 mily, I had not then numbered sixteen yAars of age, — • 
 a friendless orphan boy ! but my father had served in 
 the wars with the Lord Albino, and found his death- 
 bed in a soldier's grave. When the pangs of dissolu- 
 tion were drawing Jiigh, and he lay stretched in his 
 tent, faint with the loss of blood which he had sustained 
 in battle, he expressed a wish to see his gallant leader, 
 in whose service he had fought so dearly, who, with a 
 pitying cry did mourn and lament over the fate of his 
 brave soldier, while extending his cold hand (already 
 
OR, MARIETTE llOULINE 313 
 
 damp with the icy chill of death) towards him, he ex- 
 claimed, * My brave commander, I have served you 
 faithfully !— in the battles heat I plunged foremost, 
 and got the unlucky shot that lays me low, just as I 
 heard the sound of victory proclaimed o'er all thy van- 
 quished foes ; and when the soldiers threw up their caps 
 in shouts of acclamation ; when, with loud huzzas, 
 that reached the vaulted heavens, they cried, * Long 
 live our gallant leader, the great Albino !* I forgot 
 that a shot had shivered my right arm, or that the 
 life blood was gushing like fountains from my bursting 
 heart ; and I tried to lift the other up, and to pronounce, 
 * Long live Albino !' too : but death had laid siege to 
 me, my gallant lord, and I no more could speak the lan- 
 guage of my heart, and in notes of rapture swell thy 
 praise I — To see thee thus ere ray eyes are closed for 
 ever, and I be food for worms, are all the wishes of 
 thy dying soldier, save one small boon I crave, and 
 thou wilt not deny me.' 
 
 * By holy Paul, ask what thou wilt, and I will freely 
 grant it ! ' uttered the Lord Albino, as he dropt a 
 soldier's tear o'er the mangled body of my expiring fa» 
 ther : * name thy request, and may Heavan desert me 
 in that fearful hour as 1 now see thee, brave Andrew, 
 if ever Albino should be unmindful of thy last request 1' 
 
 To which the languid sufferer replied, while, with a 
 faint effort he yet essay 'd to grasp the hand he held 
 next to his beating heart, ' I have a young boy, I 
 left in Canada, he is my own, and had no one beside 
 me to care a sous whether he lived or died, on the rough 
 coast that Providence httd cast him ; for his young mo-> 
 ther closed her eyes the moment that his first opened 
 to the light. On a weary march the pangs of child- 
 14 2 R 
 
314 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 birth seized her fainting spirit, worn out with hard' 
 ships and with pain, and left me the young nestling, 
 whose first pillow was a soldier's knapsack. Still noy 
 young boy lived, amidst the tumults of a noisy camp, 
 and long I cherished him, for the perils of his birth, 
 with a father's fondness ; for I his mother loved, and 
 for her sake cherished the poor boy that never had 
 known a mother*s love, or mother's tender care. When 
 I joined the army in Bohemia, I left him in Canada, 
 a thriving youth, inured to hardships and to toil, and 
 fit to labour for the bread he ate. I gave him the 
 counsel of a father, when I marched away ; and bade 
 him r^niember, never to do a base, unworthy action, to 
 disgrace the memory of those to whom he owed his 
 birth. For though thou art the son of a poor soldier, 
 Ferdinand, uttered I, thou mayest one day rise to good 
 fortune, by doing thy duty as a man and a soldier, — 
 provided, thou art incorruptible to thy leader : fare- 
 well, — and should thy father fall in battle, and thou 
 shouldst hear of it, bear up manfully against it, and 
 weep not ; and forget not, that the most precious tears 
 are those with which heaven bedews the unburied head 
 of a soldier! For my young boy, 1 do beseeeh thy kind- 
 ness, let him not linger in a foreign land, but give him 
 a passport to be enlisted in thy service, that thy virtu- 
 ous example, O great Albino, nwy be the leading »tar, 
 to direct his humble fortunes : this boon I ask, and I 
 shafU die in peace, that my son may one day fill the 
 station, that his father now hath made so empty.* 
 
 The Lord Albino at this very moment, made a so-- 
 lemn promise to my father, tli^t he would grant his 
 suit, send for me from Canada, and place me in his 
 establishment, in the castle of St. Clair : and further- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINET. 315 
 
 more, tbat he would ne'er forget the young boy that 
 was born in a camp, but that I B^iould be trained up 
 beneath his own eye, for the service of war;, and follow 
 him to the field, whenever I had grown to man's es- 
 tate ; and the Lord Albino most truly kept his word, 
 Sir Orville Faulkner, for I had scarcely served in the 
 Austrian service one year, before an express arrived, 
 with dispatches to the governor of the fort St. George, 
 to send the son of Andrew Martello to Bohemia, un- 
 der the protection of a merchant, who had instructions 
 to provide all necessaries for my use, and pay for my 
 discharge from the i)attalion, that did duty in the gar- 
 rison, wherein, I was one of the band, that acted un- 
 der the command of the governor, who had taken me, 
 when quite a boy, in compassion to my youth, into big 
 service, and had me skilfully taught the science of mu- 
 sic, to befit me for the martial band . 
 
 But the mandate of the Lord Albino, who sumraoaed 
 me to his presence, was imperative, and no one dared 
 to dispute his high authority, well knowing the influ« 
 ence he possessed at the court of Vienna, and that 
 with the Emperor Josephus it was unbounded : of 
 course, the governor had no wish to detain roe from 
 the service of a mightier master ; and to the castle of 
 St. Clair I Went, and was shortly conveyed to the 
 presence of the Lord Albino, who received me with a 
 kindness far more bordering on the affection of a 
 father, than with the authority of a master ; for the 
 . very moment that he beheld me, he exclaimed, with 
 peculiar emotion, which he by no means endeavoured 
 to conceal from ray observation, — 
 
 * Ferdinand Martello, you are welcome to the castle 
 of St. Clafr ; and m*rvel not, that you see me affect- 
 
316 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GL^IR ; 
 
 ed at the strong resemblance you boar in feature to 
 your fatl»er, who was one of the bravest soldiers and 
 most faithful followers I ever had in my service : he 
 died of his wounds in a desperate battle, fought on 
 the banks of the Rhine, where 1 gained the victory : 
 but he died like a soldier ! and in his expiring mo- 
 ments, did implore my proteotion for his young boy 
 that he left in Canada ; nor implored thy father in 
 vain, to one, who knows so well his merits, and his 
 zeal towards his leader : his suit was granted. Thou 
 art welcome, then, my boy, and none shall wrong thee, 
 while Albino owns these stately towers, and is master 
 of his dominions hercn Go to, and be comforted, for 
 thy father's loss is thy gain ; I will not make thee a 
 serving-man, nor yet my page, for they are not suited 
 to thy courage : but you shall learn the art of war, and 
 be a soldier ; I will have thee instructed by one of my 
 most experienced generals, and then, thou shalt fol- 
 low me to the field of martial glory, where thou mayest 
 distinguish thyself in arms, and then I will mend thy 
 station, and exalt thee to a place of rank, far above 
 any vassal that I have about me. Hearest thou this, 
 Ferdinand ? For thy father's sake, I ne'er will slight 
 thee ; I have a young son whom much I love, for he 
 is my only son ! a young daughter, too, — sweet as the 
 opening rosebud of the spring 1 Augustina is the pride 
 of a father's heart ; and both a^re as innocent and harm- 
 less as young doves : but, I do here protest, I would 
 as soon abandon them, as thee, poor friendless boy ! 
 for thou art the legacy of a dying soldier, and I have 
 sent up to heaven a vow, — never to forsake thee ! 
 
 Imagine my transports — my boundless transports — 
 Sir Orville Faulkner, at so strohg a sentiment of kind- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 317 
 
 ness, thus expressed, from one of the most wealthy 
 and illustrious lords in all Bohemia's smiling land : 
 and I essayed to falter out an acknowledgment of 
 thanks, but could not ; the power of utterance was 
 denied me, and I fell at the feet of my noble and gene- 
 rous benefactor, and burst into a flood of tears ; with 
 which mark of sensibility he was by no means un- 
 moved ; for^ with a gentleness that reflected to 
 his noble heart, he bade me rise, and in calmer mo- 
 ments, attend his presence again, as he had much to 
 say to me on the subject of my establishment in the 
 castle of St. Clair ; and how 1 should conduct myself 
 when I should come into the presence of the Lady 
 Margaret Albino, who was wayward in her disposition^ 
 and therefore difficult to serve. 
 
 ' But for my son,' uttered the Lord Albino, * he is 
 too young at present to make nice distinctions 'twixt 
 quality from quality, or man from man : but he is gen- 
 tle to all, and would not take offence at trifles, even if 
 they were meant; and my daughter,' — ah ! then with what 
 rapture did the great warrior smile ; " my daughter,' 
 again repeated he, * would not harm the poor worm 
 that crawls beneath her feet, and although it stung her, 
 she would never destroy it for the hurt it made : in 
 woman kind I never saw such an angel as my Augus- 
 tina ! but, mark me, Ferdinand, thou must never look 
 too boldly on the Bohemian maid : not that I fear thee, 
 boy, but that I give thee timely caution, lest thy young 
 heart should feel the soft approaches of a sentiment, — 
 for the daughter of Albino never can be thine 1 Then, 
 there is the Cardinal Benvolio, too — that holy, pious, 
 virtuous man ! the bright example, and most shining 
 ornament of our sacred church !— see that you note him 
 
318 THE MYSTERMLS OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 well, ,and take obiservance of his pious doctrines and 
 virtuous propensities : attend to his lectures, that thy 
 young heart may learn the exercise of humanity and 
 virtue : be constant in tliy attendance at mass, and by 
 no means slight the honourable and chaste discourse 
 of that holy man, who, placed in high authority in my 
 establishment, doth rule over my vassals with un- 
 bounded influence and potent sway : and it were far 
 better that they offend me, than displease the Cardi- 
 nal Benvolio. All this do thou observe, young Ferdi- 
 nand ; so shalt thou find favour in my sight, and merit 
 the protection of the illustrious house of Albino. On 
 these words, I left the presence of my noble master, 
 whom I was proud to serve, treasuring his counsels in 
 my heart, and resolved, that I would most religiously 
 perform them, and at the hazard of all that was dear to 
 me in life, perish in consuming flames, ere I would 
 trespass in any shape, against my lord's commands. I 
 was conducted by an inferior vassal into two gothie 
 chambers, far remote and distant from those occupied 
 by the family of Albino ; and who informed me, that 
 they were to be exclusively appropriated to, my use, 
 and no one had leave to intrude on my privacy without 
 my permission, by the command of the Lord Albino ; 
 and an attendant vassal, by the name of Marco, was 
 engaged for my attendant, in bringing me my accus- 
 tomed meals, and waiting, in ordinary, on my person : 
 meanwhile a professor of military art, of the name of 
 Aubigny, constantly attended me, to inspect my exer- 
 cises, and instruct me in the art of war, to which, I 
 attended with the most unremitting assiduity ; well 
 knowing that he would report to my august lord and 
 patron, an exact account of the progress of my studies i 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE* 319 
 
 and, without vanity, I may affirm, that Aubigny found 
 me a most apt scholar, and I found him a most able 
 instructor, as well as a most pleasing and inteUigent 
 companion ; and although much reserved, and I most 
 diffident, at the first or second interview, he became 
 less rigid as a tutor, and insensibly blended with his 
 discipline, the confidence of friendship, frequently call- 
 ed upon me, between the hours of study and those of 
 relaxation, and sometimes strolled with me through 
 the beautiful gardens of the pagoda, where I had full 
 liberty to walk, whenever I pleased, for recreation and 
 for healthful exercise : and in these hours, it was very 
 natural to be supposed, that I admired the character 
 of Aubigny most ; for then, he seemed to forget that 
 he was my tutor, and conversed with me only as a com- 
 panion and friend. I had never seen my protector but 
 once, during a three month's course of studies, and 
 then but a short time, in his library ; but these short- 
 lived moments were whole ages ! for extending his 
 hand towards me, with a smile of the most cordial 
 sweetness, he exclaimed, — 
 
 Well, Ferdinand, I am well pleased with the flat- 
 tering account Aubigny gives me of the rapid progress 
 you have made in your studies, at which I exceedingly 
 rejoice ; and when more perfected in the art of war, 
 some six months hence, I intend to take you with me 
 to the Armada, where I have an army of some thou- 
 sand men, all awaiting my arrival, to commence a 
 siege on some invaders of my rights and privileges, 
 whioli the usurper, Godfrida, hath treacherously laid 
 claim to. I, alone, will contend with him. the disputed 
 rights ; and as his forces are but weak and powerless, 
 I have no doubt but victory will be mine : I do not, as 
 
320 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 yet, mean to engage you in aetual service, Ferdinand,* 
 continued the Lord Albino, observing that I was a 
 little flattered by his so sudden intelligence ; — * for you 
 are yet too unskilled and unpracticed in military dis- 
 cipline, to take a leading part in the command of the 
 soldiery ; and be assured that I will never place you 
 in an inferior rank, but still, I will make you familiat 
 with the scenes of a campaign, and the life of a soldier 
 which, ere long, you will be called upon to fufil : 
 nor shall I be ashamed of my young pupil, for Aubigny 
 tells me that your whole heart seems to be in it : so 
 much the better ; for had I found you a dull scholar, 
 you would not have suited the active employment for 
 which I designed you to move, in an exalted sphere !* 
 So saying, my generous benefactor gave me ten pieces 
 of gold, telling me to keep it for pocket money, and 
 my own private uses, and to employ it at my own dis- 
 cretion. * With respect to your tutor, Ferdinand,* said 
 he, as I was about to quit his presence, overwhelmed 
 with the deepest sense of gratitude ; — * preserve a res- 
 pect towards him, that becomes you as his pupil, with^ 
 out descending to familiarity ; for it is ever known, that 
 familiarity always breeds contempt ; not that Aubigny 
 would take an advantage of any unreserved conversa- 
 tion that may pass between you, when not absolutely 
 engaged in his official capacity, for which alone I em- 
 ployed him in the castle of St. Clair ; I know that he 
 is a man of honour and integrity, but you are young 
 and inexperienced in the ways of an artful, designing, 
 and inviduous world, and therefore give you a timely 
 caution, not to communicate your thoughts sand en- 
 timents too fully to characters with whom you have but 
 little connexion.' 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 321 
 
 These were the instructions of my gallant master, 
 and it was my utmost wish io abide by them in every 
 particular: but as I grew more accustomed to the 
 society of my tutor, and was now almost every day in 
 his company for successive hours, I found it impracti- 
 cable to appear studiously to avoid him ; and one even^ 
 ing, when we were walking in the pagoda, he asked 
 me if I had any objection to go to the grand mass, 
 which was to be performed that evening, for the re- 
 pose of a departed nun, who had suddenly died in the 
 convent of Mariette Mouline of a malignant distem- 
 per, and that the Cardinal Benvolio was to attend on 
 the solemn occasion, and to officiate in the ceremony 
 'ds being one of the directors, and had once been one of 
 the principal professors in this said convent of Mari- 
 ette Mouline, till by the interest of the Lor<l and Lady 
 Margaret Albino, he arrived to bis present state of 
 dignity. 
 
 As I had a most resistless anxiety and impatient 
 curiosity, to behold the man of whom fame spoke so 
 favourably, and who ranked so high in the estimation 
 of my protector, I consented to accompany Aubigny 
 to the grand mass, by no means concealing the strong 
 inducement I had to go there, that I might behold 
 that great and good man, the Cardinal Benvolio : me- 
 thought, as I uttered this, with youthful ardour, that a 
 smile of contempt played in derision, on the counte- 
 nance of Aubigny ; and he pertinaciously replied, — 
 
 * Are all things that are great, good things ? or in 
 other words, is exalted station always an incontestable 
 proof of a man's intrinsic excellence or goodness ? 
 Canst answer me that, Ferdinand ?' 
 
 ' But is not the cardinal a truly great and good 
 14 2 s 
 
^i^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. 0LA1R ; 
 
 man ?' demanded I, mueh struck, as I marked the 
 ironical looks of my tutor, as he retorted, — 
 
 * I do not know : you must ask those who know hio? 
 better than I do 1* 
 
 * But my Lord Albino speaks most highly of th© 
 . Cardinal BenYolio,' uttered I with involuntary warmth, 
 
 which I could not suppress, for I liked not the invidi- 
 ous smile of Aubigny ; and I was determined, nay, 
 I felt it an imperative duty, incumbent on me, not to 
 encourage it, and therefore cautiously added,—* and I 
 do not think that my Lord Albino would have spoken 
 thus, had the cardinal not been worthy of the estima- 
 tion of my noble master.' 
 
 ' And who says that he is not so, sir V sharply 
 answered Aubigny : * who would presume to assert it, 
 even though they thought it ? and thoughts are free,-r- 
 free as the mountain air ; every man has authority to 
 think what he pleases, though denied the liberty of 
 speech. But come, Ferdinand, let us not discuss a 
 point so pregnant with danger, as the merits or deme- 
 rits of such a personage as the head of our church. 
 You shall see him, and then judge for yourself. Come, 
 let us away ; the first bell has already swelled its low- 
 er peal : the second is to call to order the respective 
 choristers, who are ready to join in the anthems : and 
 the third is to denote, that the ceremony is about cem- 
 mencing. Come, then, let us hasten to the holy clois- 
 ters, and endeavour to procure a seat, where y ou may 
 both see and hear the idol of Bohemia ! who, like the 
 proud eagle, seated on some stately tower which over- 
 looks the shadowy deep, doth bid defiance to all that 
 would approach his territories, or invade his rights 
 and privileges ! But, come, we'll dwell no more on 
 
OB, MARIETTe MOULINE. 32S 
 
 this saintly subject, but on to the holy cloisters^ wber^, 
 if I mistake not, you will behold something more pleas- 
 ing to your eyesight than a cardinal dressed out in 
 brief authority, which, to say truth, the pious gentle- 
 man doth make the most of : — but, as I take it, the 
 whole of the Albino family will be there, to witness 
 the performance of the grand mass, that is, with the 
 exception only of our noble lord, who is gone to Vi- 
 enna, to settle some high business of the state, with 
 the Emperor Josephus ; but there will be the Lady 
 Margaret, and her young son, Fernando, and that 
 blooming star of peerless beauty, the beauteous Lady 
 Augustina, whom thou hast never yet beheld, — but, 
 when thou dost, you will say she doth surpass all wo- 
 mankind : by my good truth, 1 marvel much if the 
 famed Cleopatra, who captivated the glorious Mark 
 Anthony,— or the beauteous Helen of Greece, whose 
 diarms were the destruction of Troy, could ever rival 
 the charms of the Bohemian maid ! whom^ *tis said, a 
 mighty conqueror in arms, hath long sighed for the 
 possession of, but sighed in vain ; he was in scorn re- 
 jected as the suitor of her lovely daughter, by the 
 Lady Margaret, who doth owe him mortal hate, sus- 
 pecting that the young maiden were half inclined to 
 yield her virgin heart to the brave St. Julian : and 
 if so, it were a pity to cross two tender hearts in the 
 bright flame thai glows so pure and chastely in honour- 
 able love ; and cut them both in twain by cruel ab- 
 sence.' 
 
 By this time, I had followed the rapid steps of Au- 
 bigny to the grand entrance of the holy cloisters, be- 
 fore the doors of which innumerable petitioners for ad- 
 mittance had pressed s» strongly that it was with 
 
324 THE M^STERIE« OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 considerable difficulty that we attempted to gain a 
 passage through the crowd, which still pressed eagerly 
 jforAvard, in such motley groups, as to occasion suffo- 
 cation, and I should have fainted with the intense heat, 
 if Aubigny, who was a strong, powerfu), and nervous 
 aian, had not seized me by the arm and forcibly l«d me 
 through the entrance of the portico, throwing every 
 one aside who ventured to oppose his determined ef- 
 fort of success : but at length we arrived within the 
 cloisters, still more crowded than the outside, with the 
 largest assembly of people I had ever yet witnessed, — 
 roost of whom were females of the highest respectabi- 
 lity and distinction; while the other half were of the 
 religious order, intermixed with nuns, friars, monks, 
 ftnd pilgrims, innumerable : the body of the church 
 was most brilliantly illuminated with wax tapers, pla- 
 ced in candlesticks of massy gold, and all the rest of 
 ihe decorations were magnificent ; while the dorifer- 
 ous perfumes, generally used on such solemn occasi- 
 ons, of the balmy and fragrant frankincense, was re- 
 freshing to the senses. An organ of stupendous mag- 
 nitude was placed at a convenient distance from the 
 iioly altar, which was covered with crimson velvet, 
 over which waved a canopy, so superb in its decora- 
 tions, that a monarch might have sat under it, and not 
 have disgraced his kingdom or his throne. 
 
 The females seated in the galleries were all deeply 
 veiled, ao that it was impossible to discern a feature in 
 their face ; and the males were habited in long black 
 gowns according to the fashion used at such ceremo- 
 nies ! the faces of the choral train, who were arrayed 
 in the habit of their respective orders, and seated be- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 325 
 
 neath the organ, were alone perceptible,^and in some 
 of these were the most beautiful females in Bohemia. 
 That part of the cloisters through which the coffin of 
 the deceased nun was to pass, was entirely hung with 
 black velvet, and at the head of the bier, which was 
 to support it during the ceremony, was a superb cru- 
 cifix, an hour-glass, and the skeleton of a human 
 skull ; which, on the minds of those unaccustomed to 
 such sights, had an effect of terror not easily expressed; 
 for at the same moment, it inspired a religious awe 
 and veneration for the Supreme Being ; so irreverently 
 observed, we are sorry to state, in those countries, 
 boasting a superiority to whieh it has but little cl^im. 
 But to poceed : — On the left of the holy altar, and ex- 
 actly opposite to the canopy, where the priest who 
 performed divine service stood, was an enclosed gallery, 
 opening at each end with folding doors," in which seve- 
 ral seats for a private family were erected, of the 
 most costly workmanship, and over which, were the 
 illustrious arms of the Albino family ; to which, as the 
 seats were yet unoccupied, all eyes were attracted with 
 the most curious attention : but it was not till the 
 first choral anthem was sung, that the Lady Marga- 
 ret Albino appeared, with all the due appurtenances to 
 the rank and dignity of so exalted a personage: and 
 when she appeared at the head of her costly train, a 
 loud buz and murmur prevailed ; for all hearts there 
 did not pay homage at the shrine of this apparently 
 devout and pious lady, because all hearts did not 
 perfectly believe that piety to be sincere : however, 
 there were others equally blinded by the imposing 
 principles of this great lady, and who, fed by her boun- 
 ty, and very largely contributing to their charitable 
 
326 THE MYSTERIES O? ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 donations, proclaimed, that she was a pattern to aU 
 womankind! For what ? — there is the secret! The gifts 
 of fortune conceal the real defects of the human cha- 
 racter, and it is well known, that outward charity co- 
 vereth a multitude of sins ; still it cannot close the 
 CTer watchful eye, that is the constant observer of our 
 most secret thoughts — our most private actions : they 
 cannot be hidden, and in spite of all human means, of 
 all human art, they will be known, and judged ac- 
 cording to their several merits or demerits : and so was 
 the Lady Margaret,— whose entrance to the holy 
 cloisters, to witness the awful ceremony, was as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 She had four train-bearers, to support her long 
 black robes of costly velvet, and her face was deeply 
 veiled, while a vassal, in the rich liveries of the Albino 
 family, preceded her with the sacred volumes of her 
 holy creed ; after that, came her holy daughter, ar- 
 rayed in vestments of the purest white^ and by the 
 strict commands of her mother, for reasons best known 
 to herself, her beautiful countenance was fully revealed 
 to the delighted and enraptured eyes of an admiring 
 and wondering throng ; a modest blush, in faint 
 ai^d delicate tints, suffused the cheeks of the lovely 
 maid, as she took her seat behind her mother, with 
 an attendant who was deeply veiled, but the ele- 
 gance of her youthful form, which seeme(J modelled 
 alone by the hand of the graces, could not fail of at- 
 tracting all eyes towards her, and mine in particular ; 
 and 1 exclaimed in a whisper to Aubigny, after we had 
 obtained seats near enough to watch the entrance of 
 the Albino family,—* Who is that lovely creature, 
 that sits beside of the Lady Augustina ? for never did 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULlNE. 327 
 
 I behold a more perfect form in woman's loveliness ! 
 To which he, in the same whisper, responded, — 
 
 * She is called Antoinette, and is the favourite at- 
 tendant of the Lady Margaret, employed about the 
 person of her daughter, with whom, none has obtained 
 a greater share of favour and interest : it is said that 
 the Lady Augustina is so strongly attached to this 
 Antoinette, that she is admitted to a share of her most 
 private councils ; and the history of this girl may be 
 told in a few words : — She was an orphan ; h«r father 
 died in the service of the Lord Albino's father, and at 
 his demise the Lady Margaret took pity on the helpless 
 condition of the infant daughter, and so took her in 
 the establishment, to wait on the Lady Augustina.' 
 
 While we were thus in whispers conversing, an uni- 
 versal burst of acclamation was heard throughout the 
 holy cloisters, and every eye and every ear was turned 
 towards the grand portico ! 
 
 * It is the Cardinal Benvolio !' sneeringly pronoun- 
 ced Aubigny ; * he is sure to attract this notice, and 
 exact this homage, wherever his saintly godship ap- 
 pears. Mark, now, with what an air of humiliation he 
 bows to the multitude, who are bending prostrate on 
 their knees before him, as though he were a being of a 
 celestial order, descended from the skies ! Look how 
 the saintly cardinal (with his hand placed on his breast, 
 and his eyes turned upwards) advances modestly to 
 meet the enraptured gaze of those who believe him to 
 be an earthly saint ! 
 
 Look how he ascends the pulpit, with meek and un- 
 affected piety ; not seeming conscious of the golden 
 canopy that is waving over his head with such regal 
 pomp and splendour ! and look how the Albino family 
 
326 TUE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 pay obeisance to him ! Already is the Lady Margaret 
 prostrate on her knee, — the Lady Augustina, too, and 
 her young brother, too ! see with what respect they 
 bang on the forthcoming eloquence that is to ema- 
 nate from his tongue '• Look how the deep blue eyes of 
 that angel are turned towards him, and her fair tres- 
 ses parted back on her snowy forehead, fearful that 
 she might loose a sentence that comes from the lips of 
 the Cardinal Benvolio : and yet, by my good truth,, 
 he is no more a saint than I am ! but I will be silent j 
 yes, Ferdinand, I will adopt silence as my best secu- 
 rity, in this holy sanctuary, unfit for passions turbu- 
 lent or wild : yet, to sanction hypocrisy, and to feign 
 devotion, which I do not feel towards that saintly 
 mocker of all religion's sacred laws,— to see a blind fa- 
 natic race of virtuous people led astray, by his baneful 
 influence, — to see the industrious poor ones offering to 
 this idolatrous and crafty priest, their hard -saved earn- 
 ings, yearly and yearly, to increase his ill-gotten stores, 
 — 1 were unworthy of the name of man, did I not spurn 
 with contempt the wolf in sheep's clothing, or crush the 
 serpent's head when I see it peeping from beneath the 
 grass, only to destroy the flowery field, and make the 
 luxuriant harvest, where nature had implanted its early 
 blossoms, a blasted heath — wild, desolate, and dreary ! 
 for such, young Ferdinand, will the Cardinal Benvolio 
 shortly make of the castle of St. Clair, and all who in- 
 habit its proud domains. I know him, and I hate 
 him I' 
 
on, 1IARIET,TE MOULINE. ^^89 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 « But the place 
 Was holy : — The dead air that underneath 
 Those arches never felt the healthy sun, 
 Nor the free motion of the elements. 
 Chilly and damp, infused associate awe : 
 Tlie sacred odours of the incense still 
 Floated J- -the day light and the taper Hamcs 
 Commingled, — dimming each, and each bedimmed : 
 And as the slow procession passM along, 
 Still to their hymn, as if in symphony. 
 The regular foot-fall sounded; swelling now 
 Their roices, in one chorus, loud and deep, 
 Rung o'er the echoing aisle ; and when it ceased. 
 The silence of that huge and sacred pile. 
 Came on the heart." 
 
 SoiJTIf«Y. 
 
 HORROR-STRUCK at the Tiolent language 
 which Aubigny had made use of in so public a place, 
 at the very moment that all eyes and ears were open, 
 and rivetted on the entran«e of the Cardinal Benvolio ; 
 and apprehensive that the slightest whisper might be 
 heard in so vast a concourse of people, I entreated 
 faim, whatever his prejudices might be against this 
 14 2 T 
 
holy man, to be cautious, lest an unlucky sentence 
 might unguardedly escape him, and involve both him 
 and myself in the disgrace that would attend the con- 
 sequence of such rash and imprudent conduct, and 
 feelingly reminded him of my situation in the family of 
 the Lord Albino ; a friendless orphan, who, at the 
 slightest offence, would be cast from hi^ bounty, and 
 sent adrift, to meet the frowns of a cruel, unpitying, 
 and merciless world. To this appeal, Aubigny, to do 
 him justice, was by no means insensible ; and he obser- 
 ved a profound silence during the remainder of the 
 ceremony, which was as follows : nor could I suppress 
 the strong inducement, I had, to turn my eyes on the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, the moment that he advanced suf- 
 ficiently near for me to take observation of his person 
 and features, on which, natur# had stamped so fair an 
 impression, that I no longer wondered that h» was be- 
 held with an admiring or an approving eye; — for never 
 had I seen so perfect a model of beautiful manliness, 
 and graceful piety, than in that of the cardinal ! as 
 with slow amd dignified steps, he advanced through 
 the crowd, which had so eagerly made a passage for 
 him to ascend the pulpit. He was dressed in the full 
 order of his high authority, bearing the sacred volume 
 spread open in his hands, and his eyes, which were up- 
 lifted io meek and pious devotion, were of the finest 
 blue, and shone with the most radiant brilliancy, tem. 
 pered with the mildness and serenity of a man, whose 
 every thought was centered in his holy calling, and 
 before he opened his lips, loud murmurs of applauie 
 rang throughout the chapel ; while the pealing an- 
 them sung the iiotes of praise, and immediately at its 
 dying close, the procession slowly entered the clois-- 
 
t)R, MARIETTE MOULINE. 331 
 
 ters with the body of the sister Arethusa, (the de- 
 ceased nun) followed by the attendant sisters of the 
 convent of Mariette Mouline.* They advanced to the 
 centre of the cloisters, and there stopped the coffin, 
 resting on the bier, with the pall that was thrown over 
 it ; and at each cornei? of it were the chief mourners, 
 oi)e of which was the sister of the deceased, whose ap- 
 pearance denoted her to be of a higher trder than the 
 rest of the attendant nuns, and from whom reiterated 
 and deep sobs frequently issued. 
 
 At length, the first requiem was performed, and 
 the choral train poured forth their pious orgies, in a 
 manner that completely penetrated the hearts of all that 
 were present ; and the females, in particular, were af- 
 fected by its mournful and pathetic cadence. When 
 this had ©eased, the cardinal, whose face had been co- 
 vered during the requiem, with religious reverence, 
 breathed a low, fervent prayer, crossed his hands on 
 kis breast, and in a tone at once deep, clear, and me- 
 lodious, delivered a discourse, on the immortality of 
 the soul, after it has once quitted this earthly tene- 
 ment of clay : and it was then, that the eloquence 
 with which nature had so eminently and powerfully 
 gifted him, burst f©rth with animated force and energy 
 so peculiarly impressing, as to attract every heart with 
 reverence towards him, and to make his hearers be- 
 lieve that truths came mended from his tongue ; and 
 that he, who could so well shew the light of the gospel, 
 would light himself to that heavenly kingdom, whepe 
 
 The authoress, during^ a tour to Genoa, was present at th« «ere- 
 uKwy here des#'ibe<l. 
 
d32 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR; 
 
 all saiats wish to go : and such was the influence of the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, over the minds of his chosen few, 
 that when he concl^ided his pious discourse, and agaia 
 covered his faoe, while the last requiem was chaunted, 
 that there was scarce an eye of this vast multitude that 
 tvas not moistened with a tear: and I will truly con- 
 fess^ that I was dot unmoved at the ceremany I had 
 witnessed, or insensible to the eloquent discourse and 
 powei*s of this extraordinary man, who had wrought 
 so much on the feelings and hearts of his audi^tors : and 
 I no longer wondered at the potent sway he held, or 
 the influence he possessed with the Albino family. For 
 several times, I observed the Lady Augustina to shed 
 tears, while the whole faculties of the Lady Margaret 
 seemed absorbed in divine contemplations, scarce mov- 
 ing from her bended knees, during the whole time that 
 the eardinal was delivering his beautiful and animated 
 discourse ; which had drawn tears from every eye, and 
 extorted plaudits from every tongue, save alone Au- 
 bigny's : but I perceived that one unvarying expres- 
 sion marked his countenance, from the beginning to 
 the en4 of the cardinal's sermon ; and that expression 
 was— contempt ! although only in silence shewn. 
 
 On which, I could not avoid expressing my aston- 
 ishment, when we again arrived on the outside of the 
 cloisters, which we had far less difliculty in achieving, 
 than in gaining an entrance there ; for the crowd very 
 suddenly disi>ersed, in order, as Aubigny said, to get 
 a sighi of the holy man, when he should follow the 
 procession as far as the place of interment, and accord- 
 ing to the fashion of the cojmtry, sprinkle holy wat«r 
 on the coffin, ere it desoended to its peaceful home. 
 
 * Which, truly, doth much mortify the appetite o£ 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 333 
 
 this pious man,' uttered Aubigny ; * for by my good 
 faith, he would much rather be feasting off the rich 
 dainties that hath been prepared for his saintly sto- 
 mach, in the castle of St. Clair. I will wager you, 
 young Ferdinaod, the brightest piece of gold that e'er 
 was coined, the cardinal sups to night with the Lady 
 Margaret., The cardinal loves good suppers ; and 
 Lady Margaret loves good priests I Which hath the 
 better bargain ? 
 
 The liitter tone of irony in which this was uttered 
 by Aubigny, made me actually tremble for hia teme- 
 rity ; and I exclaimed, — 
 
 * Wherefore, sir, are you so incautious ?' 
 To which he sneeringly replied, — 
 
 * Wherefore so honest? thou shouldst have said; 
 for it is not all men who seem but honest, who dare to 
 speak their mind thus boldly : but thinkest thou, Fer- 
 dinand, that 1 am to be gulPd by the flowery discourse 
 of that fawning, canting priest, who know so well that 
 he doth not practice what he preaches ; and that he is 
 aided and abetted in that foul mask of hypocrisy and 
 deception on a fanatic, simple race of people, led astray 
 by his imposing address and semblance of piety -, with 
 which also he hath blinded the Lord Albino ? He 
 thinks him honest, and so does many ; but I know that 
 he is not so ; and that the time is drawing on when the 
 whole of his hypocrisy will be discovered, Ferdinand. 
 Soon will the mask that has so long enveloped the ac- 
 tions of this designing imposter be brouglit to light ; 
 and then will he fall from the highest pinnacle af his 
 Roaring ambition, down to the lowest ebb of fortune's 
 fickle favours : like the Cardinal Wolsey, he may then 
 
334 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 pronounce,* A long farewell to all my greatness !' for 
 that will be his end, and the end of his ambition.' 
 
 On these words, on which I made no comment, we 
 repaired to take some slight refreshments that were 
 prepared, as was the usual custom, in my own apart- 
 ment; when on our entrance,! perqeived some per- 
 turbation in the countenance of ray attendant, Mareo ; 
 and immediately enquiring into the cause, he informed 
 me that the Lady Augustina, on her return from the 
 grand mass, had been taken suddenly indisposed ; and 
 that it had occasioned the utmost confusion and alarm 
 in the family, and especially on the Cardinal Benvolio^ 
 with whom she had held a private conference in the 
 presence of the Lady Margaret, and as some high 
 words had arisen between the mother and the daughter, 
 that it had press'd too hardly on the spirits of the gen- 
 tle girl, and had produced the cause of her sudden 
 illness ; that Madame Antoinette was in tears, dis- 
 tracted at the situation of her lovely young mistress ; 
 and, as the return of the Lord Albino was hourly ex- 
 pected from Vienna, the Lady Margaret was under the 
 most fearful apprehensions of his ^high displeasure 
 against both Cardinal Benvolio and herself. 
 
 * And were I the Lord Albino,' exclaimed Aubig- 
 ny, * may I perish this moment if I would not basti- 
 nado the one, and extirminate the race of the other, 
 for their unparalleled cruelty and effrontery by wound- 
 ing the feelings of one of the sweetest angels in exist- 
 ence ! a cursed fanatic busy meddling officious priest I 
 who instead of being the harbinger of peace, in the bo- 
 som of a virtuous family, and gently waving the olive 
 branch o'er their heads, as a semblance of the holy 
 

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OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 335 
 
 calling he professes; like the serpent of old, comes 
 forth in an hour when he is least expected, and assails 
 the peace, and destroys the repose of young and smil- 
 ing innocence and beauty, under the pretence of preach- 
 ing piety, under the influence and inspiration of a di- 
 vine spirit i — But were I the Lord Albino, I would 
 make the wily serpent cast his skin, and drop the mask 
 which cannot long avail him. Young Ferdinand, thou 
 lookest shocked and surprised at the freedom of my 
 speech, with regard to the Cardinal BenvoUo ! but 
 didst thou know what I do concerning that saintly 
 hypocrite, thou wouldst not wonder at the sentiments 
 I feel towards such a man ; and that I feelindignant 
 also, in the absence of my dear, worthy master, at the 
 severity they have used to his lovely daughter, the 
 interesting Augustina. 
 
 Such was then the agitation of Aubigny, that he 
 rested his elbow on the table, and burst into an agony 
 of tears, which, I confessed, much shocked and sub- 
 dued my feelings ; fur I thought that no man could 
 be so powerfully affected, without having some just 
 cause for his emotions : and being young and inex- 
 perienced, I felt that tender compassion and sympa- 
 thizing concern that youth is alwa ys prone to, before 
 the world has corrupted their morals and their princi- 
 ples ; and I used every persuasive and consoling 
 means in my power to calm the agitation of his spirits, 
 which, I confess, appeared to me to arise from some 
 extraordinary and mysterious cause, or probably to 
 secret injury done him by the Cardinal Benvolio, which 
 he had no power to resent ; because Aubigny was 
 avewedly one of the most intelligent and well educated 
 
336 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 men I had ever conversed with, and his manners were 
 truly those of the most accomplished gentleman ; he had 
 likewise an inherent abhorrence of all that was disho- 
 nourable or unjust. Some reason therefore he must 
 have, to have so openly and publicly have declared his 
 sentiments of the character of the Cardinal Benvolio : 
 but, not appearing to remark to him what were my con- 
 jectures, much less wishing to pry into his secrets, I 
 prevailed with him to sit down and partake of some re- 
 freshment, and to beg that he would compose himself; 
 but he arose, and wishing me good-night, abrubtly left 
 me, saying that he had no appetite, and felt too dis- 
 composed to enjoy my society ; that there was a neces- 
 sity for his immediately quitting the castle sf St. Clair ; 
 but he assured me that he would see me at an early 
 hour the ensuing morning. ' In the mean time, dear 
 Ferdinand, 1 thank you for the kind and soothing at- 
 tention you have shown towards rae,» added he, ex- 
 tending his hand towards me with the most cordial 
 affection : ' when I am more composed, Ferdinand, I 
 will disclose to you what ostensible cause I have for 
 the prejudices I have conceived against Cardinal Ben- 
 volio ; which when you have heard, and freely digested, 
 you will stand horror-struck that such are the crimes 
 of a man at this moment placed in high authority at 
 the head of the church, the idol of a blind, credulous, 
 and infatuated world ; and supported in honours, ex- 
 alted to eminence, and distinguished by the confidence 
 and friendship of the illustrious great ones. Such is 
 prejudice, and such is fashion, and such is refinement, 
 when aided by the powerful influence of eloquence, 
 and a pleasing external, formed to cajUtvate whilcjt 
 
OR, MARIETT£ MOULINE W7 
 
 •destroys.' lieft wholly to my own reflections, at the 
 departure of Aubigny, which, to say truly, were none 
 of the most pleasing kind : I had at some moments, 
 unconscious to myself, heaved the most melancholy 
 and mournful sighs ; for I felt my spirits depressed 
 from witnessing the extreme agitation of my amiable 
 friend, whom I thought, from some mysterious cause 
 or other, had been rendered unhappy by some private 
 injury, inflicted on his feelings by the Cardinal Ben- 
 volio : and while I was occupied, nay, totally absorbed, 
 with contemplation of so painful a nature, I had for- 
 got that my attendant, Marco, was still in the apart- 
 ment, and was silently and scrupulously observing 
 my emotions : and quickly recovering my self-posses- 
 sion, and assuming my wonted composure, I bid him 
 remove the supper things from the table, as 1 had no 
 appetite or relish for the delicacies which he had so 
 obligingly set before me : after which, he might retire, 
 as 1 felt weary, and would go to bed. 
 
 No sooner had I given him these orders, which I 
 always did in a manner that proved, that I had a sense 
 of my humble station ; and that I had never once for- 
 gotten that I was a dependant only on the bounty of 
 his illustrious master, than the poor fellow, surveying 
 my agitated looks with peculiar sympathy and kind- 
 ness, exclaimed, — 
 
 ' And so because Mr. Aubigny does not choose to 
 partake of a good hot supper, when it is placed before 
 him, he must needs deprive you of enjoying it, besides 
 making you uncomfortable by his megrims and his va- 
 pours ; you, that have no more to do with his concerns 
 in this castle, than I have, who ani nothing more than 
 a poor servant, Hying on the wages of honest industry 
 15 2 u 
 
 k 
 
338 
 
 and hard labour ; but I should think it a still hardef 
 case, sir, if I was a young gentleman like you, if I 
 could not take my meails in peace and quietness : there 
 is my good lord, sir, never takes upon him half so 
 much, I can assure you ; and it was well for Mr. Au- 
 bigny, that he was not here, to see the airs that he 
 gave himself in your apartment, when, like the dog 
 in the manger, not being able to eat the hay himself, 
 he must needs prevent others from tasting of it, with a 
 murrain to him and his crabbed humours I It is enough 
 to make a saint speak, to see how he has put upon you ; 
 and if / was you, Mr. Ferdinand — ' Here Marco 
 made a full stop, probably to take a moment's breath, 
 which he appeared to haVe lost mtKch of, (luring this ' 
 long oration ; but it had givefci me full time to delibe- 
 rate on what reply I should make to it, with tfie pro- 
 priety and decorum it was necessary foi^ me t6 iad opt 
 to all the domestics in the castle of St. Clair ; and an- 
 swered him thus :— 
 
 * My good fellow, were you me, you would most 
 probably do as I intend to do, not to intermeddle with 
 the business of those, who do not concern my personal' 
 interest or my happiness : it is true that I have nothing 
 to do with Mr. Aubigny's private grief or sorrow, or 
 with the mysteries of St. Clair,— being but a depend- 
 ant on the bounty of its illustrious lord ; but I cannot 
 see that human being miserable or unhappy, with a 
 heart of apathy or cold indifference towards them ; 
 without endeavouring to alleviate his sufferings, by 
 offering every condolence that sympathy can afford, 
 although I by no means wish to inquire into the cause 
 of them: besides, Mr. Aubigny is my tutor, my in- 
 structor, and my friend,— placed over me by my kind 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 339 
 
 and generous benefactor and patron, the Lord Albino, 
 ia all which respective characters, I am bound, in duty 
 to my lord, to owe him gratitude. I surely could not 
 force him to eat if he felt no inclinatioi^, or yet com- 
 mand him to stay in my apartment if he was disposed 
 ;to retire to his own ; which from the lateness of the 
 hour, was the most prudent plan he could adopt, if he 
 found himself unfit for conversation. Mr« Aubigny is 
 certainly his own master, and I have no right to con- 
 trol him in any one action that he chooses to do, 
 when he is not giving me the instructions of a tutor.' 
 
 The cool and deliberate manner in which I had ut- 
 tered this, was a sufficient hint to Marco, that his lo- 
 quacity was by no means so welcome as he expected 
 it would have been, in the absence of my friend ; and 
 placing the lamp on my table, which was to light me 
 to my chambeJT, he very coldly and ceremoniously 
 bade me good night, which I very civilly, but as coldly, 
 returned ; fully resolved, that I would not encourage 
 any prejudice that had any tendency to slander or les- 
 sen the character of my amiable friend and excellent 
 instructor, by listening to any gossip's tale, that came 
 from the lips of any domestic belonging to the castle 
 of St. Clair : and Marco never to my knowledge resum- 
 ed [the subject of the merits or demerits of Mr. Au- 
 bigny more, I kept him at a respectful distance, with- 
 out assuming too much consequence, and frequently 
 gave him trifling presents, for his unremitting assidui- 
 ties towards me; and I always found him grateful in 
 return, and willing to serve me on all occasions, 
 such as procuring me bait for my fishery, small shot 
 for to shoot with, and dogs to follow me to the chase, 
 in which 1 was permitted to join the huntsmen, when- 
 
340 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 ever they went a coursing, by desire of the Lord 
 Albino. 
 
 But to proceed : the ensuing morning at an un- 
 coramonly early hour, Aubigny, very different in looks 
 and manners from the evening before, made his ap- 
 pearance at the door of my study : I arose to meet 
 him, and received him with a welcome smile. 
 
 * Good morning to you, Fordinand,' uttered he m 
 a voice full of cheerfulness and vivacity : * I am come 
 to take breakfast with you, with a better appetite than 
 I had last night, when I went supperless to bed : but 
 I could not eat ; zounds ! I had no appetite last night 
 for any thing but vengeance ! which not being satiated 
 when waking, I went to sleep, and dreamt that the 
 cardinal and I met sword in hand, and that the very 
 first plunge I made — laid the bosom bare of the trea- 
 cherous priest, and he no more could rise, to bid de- 
 fiance to his mortal enemy ! for as I was about to raise 
 my arm again, the perfidious villain groaned, and 
 writhing like a crested snake who no more could spit 
 its venom forth, expired ! In raptures I awoke, with 
 hands clenched, as though I still grasped the instru- 
 m^at of vengeance, that had rid the world of such a 
 monster ; but, oh ! young Ferdinand, I grieved to 
 find it but a dream !*— 
 
 ' Almighty powers ! are you frantic, sir ?' uttered I • 
 for not till this moment had I perceived that my at- 
 tendant, Marco, was in the room ; and concluding that 
 he must have listened to this unguarded speech, was 
 perfectly horrified at the consequences which might 
 ensue, that I had permitted such indecorous conduct 
 to take place in my apartment. I pointed out to his 
 observation;, the object of my terror and wild dismay. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 341 
 
 who at that moment was employed in placing the 
 equipage on the table ; and, had he ears, he must have 
 heard the imprudent speech uttered in the wild hurry 
 of a moment by the thoughtless and unguarded Au- 
 bigny : but there was no expression in the countenance 
 of Marco, that betrayed the slightest fear that he had 
 discovered the sentiments of Aubigny against the car- 
 dinal : I therefore hoped that it had escaped his no- 
 tice ; and as soon as he had quitted the room, entered 
 into a conversation of the most affecting and interest- 
 ing nature with my friend, who, lowering his voice al- 
 most to a whisper, and drawing his chair close to 
 mine, became agitated only for a few moments, but 
 having drank at my earnest entreaties a cup of coffee, 
 and afterwards resumed his wonted composure, while 
 he briefly informed me of the cause of his strong pre- 
 judice towards the cardinal, and how just were the 
 grounds on which were founded the continuance of his 
 eternal hatred ; which could never cease till one or the 
 other of them were exterminated from the race of the 
 earth. He then began to detail the circumstances of 
 his early birth, and of having received the first rudi- 
 ments of his education at the college of St. Ambrose, in 
 Vienna, and admitted as a student under the inspec- 
 tion and the care of the professor Paulini; himself, and 
 an only sister, not then fifteen years of age, having 
 been left orphans with a very small patrimony, which, 
 by the will of his deoaased father, who had formerly 
 been also a professor of learning in the same college, 
 was to be equally shared with him and hris sister, when 
 she came of age ; that during his abode in the college 
 where he was strictly urged to pursue the course of 
 his studies with the most unremitting assiduity, he 
 
^ 
 
 1542 THE MYSTERIES OF 3T. CLA.rR ; 
 
 had nevei' beheld his young and blooming sister Ade- 
 laide ; but on his repeated inquires after her health and 
 welfare, was at length told by the professor Paulini, 
 that she had been placed under the care of the abbess, 
 in the convent of Mariette Mouline, as expressed ia the 
 will of his father, there to receivje a religious education, 
 ia order to take the holy coni^entaal vow, at a more 
 mature age, when perfectly initiated into the nature of 
 the holy rites : that not having any intercourse with 
 the world and its dangerous temptations, she sighed 
 not for pleasures that she never knew, and was there- 
 fore considered a fit subject to take the veil, having 
 no fortune or any inducement to move in any other 
 sphere ; besides, being so extremely lovely in her per- 
 son, as to render her situation i^^ the path of life very 
 likely to lead her from heavenly purposes, for which 
 her father, had from the hour of her birth, designed 
 her r that from this communication of the professor 
 Paulini, he was rendered miserable at the approaching 
 fate of his young sister ; and shuddered at the sacrifice 
 of so much youth and beauty to a cold cloister's melan* 
 choly gloom, at which, it was possible, that her heart 
 revolted ; nor did he cease to revile the memory of his 
 father, at the unnatural sacrifice he had made of his 
 beauteous child. 
 
 ' In short, Ferdinand,' continued Aubigny, * the si- 
 tuation of my lovely sister affected me so deeply, that 
 I was unable to conceal the anguish that preyed on 
 my heart ; and not daring to unburden my sorrows 
 to any human being in the college, while the form of 
 the dear, unhappy Adelaide haunted me night and day, 
 in the natural conclusion, that the vows she was about 
 to make was foreign to her heart and repulsive to her 
 
OR, MARIETTE M^UtlNE. 343 
 
 inclinations. I wept and bewailed her deplorable fate 
 incessantly, till it at length threw me on a sick bed, 
 where the physician of the college was immediately 
 called in to my assistance. The professor Paulini, 
 though stern and austere in his manners, and strict 
 in the discipline he used towards his pupils, was by 
 no means ungentle in his dispositloH, much less*vV^as 
 he unkind in his heart ; and, if occasion required, wdiird** 
 always grant indulgence to any of their requests, if 
 they came in any reasonable demand. I believe I was' 
 somewhat a favourite with the holy man, for on hear- 
 ing of my sudden illness, he immediately presented 
 himself in my chamber, and was very solicitous to* 
 know of the physician, what was thieiiStufd'of nijy fcasfe ; 
 and what he imagined niight be the caljse of its 'so sud-'^ 
 den effect on my person, which in three days was per- 
 fectly emaciated, with the rapid inflammation of hectic 
 fever. 
 
 As this was said in an under tone to the physician, 
 probably that I might not hear him so anxious in his 
 enquiries about me, I could listen to them, without 
 being at all perceived, having closed my eyes as if in 
 sleep ; and in a few minutes 1 heard him return him 
 the following answer, uttered in the same low key :-^'. 
 
 * The poor youth is certainly suffering under the in- • 
 fluence of strong hectic symptoms 6i fever ; but'itndoes 
 not appear to be the general habit of his constitution ; 
 and candour obliges me to say, that I am of opinion, 
 that the cause and the effects of the disease, apparently 
 owe their source 16 a disordered mind, more than to 
 a diseased body : there' is some mental malady that 
 powerfully oppresses him, which if not speedily remov- 
 
^44 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 ed, will counteract all effects of medicine, and ulti-, 
 mately end in approaching dissolution. 
 
 ' By holy Paul I I would not the youth depart thus 
 disquieted, for the diadem of the Emperor Josephus,' 
 cried the affrighted Paulini : * I will, as soon as he 
 awakens, confer with him awhile on the private sor- 
 rows that disturb his soul ; and gently demand to 
 know if I have the power of removing them. He is 
 a most discreet and studious youth, and is besides the 
 greatest ornament to our blessed cpUege of learning. 
 I knew his father, too ; and h» was a most devout and , 
 pious man, and for his memory 1 do bear good will to^^ 
 Lis son.' .,..,f 
 
 Paulini now cast a look of solicitude towards me ; 
 and, as I feigned thus to be sleeping, I thought to feign 
 dreaming would be no greater sin ; since, as I then , 
 thought, it might save a gentle sister from the horrors 
 of her approaching condemnation : so I called out, 
 with a loud hollow voice, well calculated to deceive 
 both the priest and the physician, 
 
 *■ Adelaide ! Adelaide ! my sister 1 why troublest 
 thou me ? I am thy brother, but have no power to save 
 thee from the holy vow thou so abhorrest to perform 1 
 Adelaide I Adelaide ! my sister ! why troublest thou 
 me ?' No sooner had I pronounced these words, than 
 I feigned again the most profound slumber ; but the 
 potent effects it had on the minds of the priest and the 
 physician were beyond the powers of expression ; for 
 the one exclaimed, * By holy Paul ! the secret of the 
 poor youth is now discovered ; he bath a sister in the 
 convent of Mariette Mouline about to offer up her vow 
 of eternal celibacy, and to perform the holy rites to 
 enter the holy cloisters ; and I do believe the youth 
 
nerer seen her, sioqe the maidea hath come to 
 yeairs of womanhood ; and belike the youth doth sicken 
 to behold her, ere she resigns all intercourse with the 
 vaio world : she is called Adelaide, sure enough — 
 the boy is right; I beheld her once at the grand mass, 
 and, truly, a fairer vestal saint did my eyes never be- 
 hold ; and haply he may wish to see her : if so, his 
 wish shall be duly gratified/ 
 
 *^ To which the physician i-eplied ; — ^ And which if 
 thou dost not shortly gratify, he will not long see mor- 
 tal more; for he will die ere the morning sun be 
 aet, if he beholds not this sister whom his soul so 
 loveth/ 
 
 ^* * Then I will away on the instant, and bring the 
 maiden to him,* cried Paulini, now in the utmost con- 
 sternation and dismay. ' I will go to the convent of 
 Mariette Mouline, and return with the maiden; by 
 holy Paul, I could not answer to my conscience, to let 
 the youth die, without bidding a ghostly farewell to 
 his sister/ 
 
 " In this opinion the physician so heai'tily concurred, 
 that away posted the professor Paulini to the convent 
 of Mariette Mouline, to bring the young noviciate 
 to the bed-side of her dying brother, for such the phy- 
 sician had declared me to be ; and the high eminence 
 in which the professional talents of this gentleman 
 stood at the college of St. Ambrose, where he had 
 been in constant attendance for a series of years, made 
 k impossible to doubt the assertion that I waa a dying 
 wsm, if my sister was not brought before nie : but my 
 transported feelings told me that I was far otherwise ; 
 9ti4 elated with the success of ray little innocent de- 
 ceit, no soonejr had the professor Paulini qmtted the 
 
 b}5 2x 
 
346 THE MTSTBRIBS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 room, and I perceived the physician station himself at 
 my bedside, surprized, no doubt, at my continued pro- 
 pensity to sleep, after having exhibited symptoms of a 
 mind so disturbed, than I hastily drew the curtains 
 aside, jumped out of bed, and threw myself prostrate at 
 his feet ; when I made an open confession of all the 
 feelings of my tortured soul, informed him of the cri- 
 tical situation of my poor unhappy sister, if forced to 
 take the vows contrary to her inclinations; and im- 
 plored him, if he valued the repose of two earthly be- 
 ings, both here and hereafter, to favour my designs, 
 and practise the deceit on the stern professors of the 
 college, who would not suffer me to hold any converse 
 with my sister, but under the apprehension that I 
 was really dying: to these supplications, I added 
 tears, and was nearly fainting, when the good old man, 
 perfectly shocked at my intelligence, and pleased with 
 the confidence I had reposed in him, assured me that 
 it should never be betrayed ; and that if by his means 
 my sister could be snatched from the horror* of such 
 a destiny, that he would endeavour to avert it to the 
 utmost of his power. 
 
 '^ * In the mean time, boy,' cried he, ' make the best 
 of your way into bed again, and cover yourself up 
 with the bed-clothes, and I will administer to you a 
 medicine, which will compose your agitated spirits, 
 which, in real truth, threaten you with inflammation, if 
 you do not take great care to prevent it : it will send 
 you off in a gentle slumber, and elude the suspicions 
 of those who attend about your chamber ; it is merely 
 designed to give you an opportunity of conversing with 
 your sister, privately. In the mean time, I will receive 
 the maiden from the hands of Paulini, and conduct 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 347 
 
 ber to your presence ?' at which assurance of the good 
 old man, I energetically exclaimed — 
 
 '' ' May every blessing that crowns the race of mor- 
 tals attend you, sir ! for the performance of this goodly 
 deed, may angels reward you ! and whether I be liv- 
 ing or dead, may this one action of your life be a pass- 
 port to your eternal happiness in a world to come.' 
 ^ ? f^ He waved his hand, as if to impose silence on my 
 already irritated and exhausted feelings, and gave me 
 a gentle opiate, which very soon produced the desired 
 effect 'y and I was really under the influence of its potent 
 sway, when Paulini arrived in a cabriolet with my 
 sister, at the gates of the college, most anxiously en- 
 quiring of the physician, whether I were yet living or 
 dead. 
 
 f»^" To which he replied— 
 
 *'' "' He is sleeping, from an opiate which I have re- 
 cently administered, to quiet the violent symptoms 
 under which I found him labouring, immediately af- 
 ter your departure ', and from which it would be in- 
 stant death, were 1 suddenly to awaken him. In a few 
 hours hence, he will be more composed, and I will 
 then cautiously bring the maiden into his presence. 
 J furthermore recommend, for the safety of my patient,* 
 added the worthy physician, ' that this meeting be- 
 tween the brother and the sister be of the most private 
 nature ; or, in other words, that no one may be witness 
 to any. conversation that may result from such a meet- 
 
 V '^"^ And thinkest thou that it will disturb his dying 
 moments ?' impatiently demanded the professor Pau- 
 lini : * if ihou dost, I must, perforce, forego the promise 
 I have made to the abbess of the convent of Mariette 
 
348 THE M¥SrrERlES OF ST. CLAIR, 
 
 Moulinsd^.that I must not quit the presence of the 
 maiden, Adelaide Aubigny, till I forthwith deliver up 
 my chai-ge again > but since thou sayest so, I will not 
 stand on the order of the nicety of the thing, but, 
 take her to the youth,, and leave them together, when- 
 ever he shall awaken. Far be it from me, to deny a 
 dying sinner his confession ; and though I have a sa- 
 cred charge with the maiden, from her ghostly confes- 
 sor, that no one see or converse with the vestal saint 
 but the dying youth — yet, to your hands I will consign 
 her, well knowing the high authority in which you 
 ^tand in the college of St. Ambrose.* 
 
 ^^ * And truly you may say it is no grateful task,' 
 cried the physician, with an air of the utmost compo- 
 sure, ' since to hear the private conference of a brother 
 ^ and a sister can be nothing 3 but my patient cannot 
 be left Jong without my assistance, and if he dieth in 
 my absence, I must render up an account of what I 
 have administered to him in the course of his disease, 
 10 the board of this college, who will hold me respon- 
 sible for any wilful neglect offered to any of its mem- 
 bers.' 
 
 ** ' Thou sayest most rightly,' cried the professor 
 Paulini; * therefore when the youth is awake, and thou 
 shall deem him fit to hold conversation with his sister, 
 come for the maiden, Adelaide, and I will forthwith 
 deliver her into your hands/ 
 
 " Ou hearing these words, which was the confirma- 
 tion of all my hopes and wishes, I could scarcely con- 
 ceal my transports, w feign a stupor which I did not 
 feel ; and once more expressing my unbounded grati- 
 tude to the worthy physician, by whose friendly aid 
 alone I had succeeded in the accooiplisluxietill of my dc- 
 
OB, MARIETTK MOULINE. 349 
 
 signs I left to his discretion to appoint the hour, which 
 it would be deemed the most proper to admit my sister : 
 and his answer was, — ^ The sooner, the better ; the 
 moments are precious^ ])oth to you and your sister, and 
 the sooner yon obtain an interview with her, the sooner 
 your mind will be rendered easy on heir account. I, 
 for my own part, have so great an aversion to compul- 
 sion of any kind, and particularly to that of forcing 
 young females to take the veil, before they know the 
 nature cf it,, that I confess, had I a daughter, I would 
 rather follow her to the grave, than consign her to a 
 convent's solitary gloom, which, I will aver, was never 
 designed for youth and innocence — for what has inno- 
 cence to do with fear, I tbcmld be glad to know ? It 
 may, indeed, be considered as a fit sanctuary for the 
 once guilty sinner, who having coiaamitted crimes, re- 
 pents, and wishes, in solitude and silence, and in fast- 
 ing and praj^er, to mak6 some atonement for their past 
 mispent life, by abandoning the pursuit of pleasures 
 which have cost them so dearly > I say, that in such 
 cases, the walls of a convent is the most proper asylum 
 they can resort to, for the residue of their lives ; but 
 for the youthful and the virtuous breast, such a sacri- 
 fice is both unnatural and unjust, nor does the God of 
 nature require it at our hands* Virtue has no exer- 
 cise in a cloistered life, and humanity cannot perform 
 its duties; ilay, there is an absolute frigidity in the 
 rules and ceremonies of a monastic life, and those who 
 adopt it widely err if they imagine that it is more ac- 
 ceptable in the eyes of a Supreme Being, than those 
 who, living in the busy haunts of mankind, in the very 
 midst of temptation, yet have the prudence to avoid 
 its snares : it is ^*e that human fortitude and human 
 
350 TIIK MYSTKRIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 virtue is called into action, and as natural propensi- 
 ties, which, whether inclining" to good or ill, meets witfv 
 its reward or its punishment; but in a convent, the 
 free-born soul is held in fetters and in vice, often con- 
 cealed beneath the semblance of virtue, which, if 
 properly searched into, would not bear the test of in- 
 vestigation. I charge you then, youth, if your sister 
 revolts at the sacred vow she is going to perform, and 
 thou hast any influence to persuade her to abandon 
 the thought of such a sacrifice, delay it not a moment, 
 boy, but boldly tell the maiden, thou wilt not see her 
 wronged, and that thou hast a broth,er's right tp inter* 
 fem^ ^- i, it;}$!W^ '^tmhiil tihDtrff^ b^!^ 
 ^ *^* * Alas ! sir,' feebly artfculated I, * and what would 
 ^at avail me, against the superior influence of the 
 abbess of the convent of Mariette Mouline ? in which 
 the niles are so arbitrary and so despotic, that were I 
 in any shape to oppose the high order of its authority, 
 I should be disgraced, perhaps pursued with vengeance, 
 by its fanatic votaries : among the foremost of which, 
 is the professor Benvolio, who is one of the directors, 
 under the especial authority of the abbess herself; over 
 whose mind, it is said, he lords such unbounded sway ; 
 and he is considered so pure and chaste a pattern of all 
 earthly piety, that he is worshipped by the holy sister- 
 hood, as a being descended from the skies, to utter 
 divine truths ; and that he is so severe and strict in the 
 performance of his religious duties, that on the slight- 
 est deviation from the established rules of the convent, 
 he has been known to punish the offenders, whether 
 male or female, with the most exquisite tortures, that 
 the imagination or cruelty could invent.' 
 " To which the physician replied — 
 
OR^ MARIBTTB MOULINB. 351 
 
 \u **^f I have heard somewhat slightly of that you speak^ 
 and of the character of BenvoliOy but never heard him 
 thus accused : he stands in high respect at the head of 
 the church, and it is rumoured that he will be ad- 
 vanced to higher preferment, and put into the possession 
 of greater dignities, when the court of Vienna shall as- 
 semble at the next meeting ^ but, no more of this dull 
 matter, as thou valuest the repose of thy gentle sister, 
 or thine own safety in the college of St. Ambrose, who 
 all adore and bend at the shrine of Benvolio's saintly 
 virtues : prepare thee now to behold thy sister, and 
 I will go and bring the maiden to thy chamber^^i^^z. 
 "The physician instantly departed; and hastily 
 throwing on a dressing gown, and sitting myself on a 
 conch that was placed near the casement, which through 
 the lattice admitted the balmy fragrance of the opening 
 flowers that grew beneath it, I felt my spirits revived ; 
 and waited, with the most impatient anxiety, to behold 
 the only relative, and the only tie that bound me to 
 existence — my young sister. And at length I heard 
 her light step in the portico 5 and my heart beat tre- 
 mulously when the door gently unclosed, and the 
 physician led in his hand one of the most lovely girls 
 my eyes had ever beheld ; who, in her nineteenth year, 
 exhibited the full bloom of woman's loveliness so per- 
 fect, that, as I gazed in transports on her faultless, 
 lovely face, and on her fine, dignified, and command- 
 ing figure, 1 could not divest myself of some pride in 
 being the brother of so heavenly a creature. 
 ^n¥»Our meeting was natural and affecting, on both 
 sides, and not without shedding tears. Adelaide as- 
 sured me how frequently she had solicited permission 
 to obtain a meeting with her brother, when the was 
 
352 THE 'M*BTBRIfiS OF €T. CLAIR ; 
 
 iflfoftfled tlwit 5t W08 not the mles of the convent of 
 Mariette Monline Ibr any female about to take the holy 
 vow, to see any of the Bpiale sex, althon^ the nearest 
 relative in existence 5 and tier request was therefore 
 peremptorily denied to h€r. 
 
 '^•**i*'And to whom was this earnest petition of yours 
 preferred, maiden ?^ enquired the physician ; whom I 
 in treated to be present at this interview with my sister, 
 weH Knowing that his presence would prevent all offi- 
 cious intruders into the apai'traent, while Adelaide 
 remained with me. 
 
 " Adelmde for a moment faltered in her reply ; tears 
 itivoluntarily started to her lovely eyes ; and, while a 
 crimson blush in roseate hues dyed her fair, transpa* 
 rent cheelc, she answered— 
 
 *^ ^ ft was to my confessor, the holy father Benvolio, 
 that I so oft repeated my solicitation that he would 
 permit me to see my dear brother, ere I took the veil ; 
 which request was accompanied with tears, with pray- 
 ers, unavailing, and I may add, un pitying. The holy 
 father is a stern man, and I always tremble when I aoK 
 oMiged to attend his presence.' 
 
 ^^* Holy is, that holy does V sarcastically pronounced 
 the physician: and Adelaide again sigiied heavily; 
 and at this moment, beneath the folds of the veil that 
 but partially concealed a breast white as the snowy 
 plumage of the gi'aceful swan, i beheld her struggled 
 si^hs, and all the brother rushed to my heart, with love 
 and pity for my hapless sister, and rage and indigna- 
 tion against the tyrannic fetters in which she was 
 bound. In short, Ferdinand, E was no longer mas 
 ter of my impetuous feelings, and unmindful of the 
 presence of the worthy physician, I execrated the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 353 
 
 whole community of the savage monsters, who was 
 going to offer up to their fanatic rites a sacrifice of 
 such youth, innocence, and beauty : and I swore by 
 the eternal Giver of all good and precious gifts, that I 
 would use means to prevent it. ' Yes ! by the God 
 of my fathers,' uttered f , ' Adelaide shall be preserved 
 from her impending fate : I will perish in consuming 
 fire, before they shall force my sister to take a vow 
 that her soul abhors !' 
 
 * Hold ! wild, rash, and imprudent boy !' cried the 
 physician, perfectly affrighted at the sudden violence 
 of passion, that I had exhibited ; * or you will very 
 quickly hurl down ruin on thy head, and on that also 
 of your unhappy sister. Calm, then, these transports ; 
 and if you ever wish to succeed in your designs, be si- 
 leut, 1 charge you, or you can do nothing towards the 
 rescue of the victim — for such I fear she is— before you ; 
 this impotence of rage is unavailing, and will only ex- 
 pose you to the malice and the persecution, nay, the 
 punishment of the offended church, when once they 
 discover, that you are acting in direct opposition 
 against its laws. Be prudent, then, and adopt si- 
 lence, if you are wise. Remember, youth, that in kind 
 compassion to your sufferings, I have gone a step be- 
 yond the boundary of the order of my authority in this 
 college, as the attending physician, and if you do not 
 repress this tendency to violent passion, it will not only 
 draw upon yourself consequences that may be unplea- 
 sant and mortifying to your feelings, — but expose me 
 also to some severe animadversions, on the indulgence 
 I have granted to you ; let me not find occasion to re- 
 pent of having done you this kindness, but by the fu- 
 ture propriety of your conduct, learn to merit my good 
 15. 2 Y 
 
364 THE, lyLYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 
 
 opinion^ and my further wish to serve you, should you 
 stand in^need of my assistance. For your sister you 
 can do nothing*, if she herself is resolved to take so 
 solemn a vow : i it is not in your power to alter the de- 
 •cree of the convent in which she was placed by the 
 will of your dying father ; for me to attempt to inter- 
 fere in a point so ^delicate, and where the law would 
 give me no authority, would be ridiculous and absurd. 
 All I can say is now in her presence, that whatever she 
 determined on, whether to renounce the vow she has 
 made, or ^ keep it inviolate, that it must be done 
 speedily, for the time is rapidly advancing, when you 
 must bid each other adieu, to meet again God knows 
 when or where: yet, remember, my children, in your 
 separate griefs, which now weigh so heavily on your 
 hearts, that his all- seeing and searching eye, from 
 which no human secrets can be hidden, will constantly 
 watch over you, and that in defiance of all human pow- 
 er and all human art, he will deliver you from all evil 
 that man can do towards you, at the appointed time, 
 that by his worldly wisdom he intends that it should 
 take place. Wait, then, with patient forbearance, for 
 that appointed hour, nor doubt the interference of an 
 over-ruling and superior Providence,, whose ways, 
 though mysterious, are ever just. 
 
 For you, young maiden,' resumed the worthy man, 
 turning to my sister, who had wept during the whole 
 of the discourse that he had been addressing to me in 
 so affecting and serious a tone, * blind not your bro- 
 ther, who feels so poignantly for your situation ; and 
 deceive not yourself; but above all things, attempt 
 not to deceive your heavenly father which is in heaven ; 
 and who knoweth your heart, though you know it not. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 355 
 
 If you feel that you cannot abide by tho sacred oath 
 you are about to take, renounce it, while you yet pos 
 sess the power of doing so ; for when once taken, it can- 
 not be recalled without perjury, and without sin !— 
 Reflect on these, my parting words, young maiden ; 
 and heaven and all good angels be with thee.' 
 
 ^ Adelaide,' uttered I, taking the cold hand of my 
 agitated sister, and preparing to bid her farewell, ' you 
 have heard the excellent advice of this worthy man, in 
 this hour of bitter separation ; remember it, my sister, 
 and abide stedfastly to the truth, and to the firm faith 
 of thy religious principles : so, farewell, my beloved 
 sister, and may heaven be thy guide in this world, and 
 in that hereafter.' 
 
 ' And shall I not again behold you, my brother ?' 
 exclaimed the weeping Adelaide, and leaning on the 
 arm of the physician, who now kindly supported her 
 tottering steps, which nearly sunk under the weight 
 of the intolerable anguish that pressed upon her heart ^ 
 but to this strong appeal, made to my feelings, I could 
 not n^ake any reply ; and I covered my face With my 
 handkerchief,^wholly overpowered by my sensations, 
 during the time that the physician conducted the \^eep- 
 ing Adelaide from ray chamber.' 
 
 Alas I Ferdinand, the recollection of this bitter 
 agonizing moment, rushes on my mind with such re- 
 sistless force, and recals my lovely and now sainted 
 sister so perfect to my memory, with all the wrongs 
 and injuries from the fell monster who heaped a ruin 
 on her devoted head, and nipt so fair a flower in its 
 loveliest bloom, that, armed like a lion in its fiercest ven- 
 geance, I could now rush forth, and strike with terri- 
 ble revenge the destroyer of Adelaide Aubigny, that 
 
356 THE MYSTBRms OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 craftly, smiling, perfidious hypocrite, the false dissem- 
 bler of holy religion's sacred laws, the accursed Ben- 
 volio !" 
 
 * The Cardinal Benvolio ?' reiterated 1, in the most 
 profound astonishment, ' and was he the destroyer of 
 your beauteous sister ?' 
 
 To which, Aubigny instantly replied,— 
 " Heaven and all its holy angels be witness, that he 
 was the fiend that sent an angel to an untimely 
 grave 1 and the melancholy sequel of my s^ory is thus, 
 Ferdinand, and with sorrow and with shame I relate 
 it ; that my dear, unhappy sister, at a very early period 
 in life, had contracted an intimacy with the younger 
 branch of a most noble and illustrious family in Vi- 
 enna, an amiable and accomplished young nobleman, 
 to whom she plighted her virgin faith, and to whom 
 she surrendered the possession of her virgin heart, 
 long ere she became a boarder in the convent of Mari- 
 ette Mouline ; and to whom, it appears, she was pri- 
 vately espoused by a catholic priest, at the very time 
 that she was called upon to take the vow of celibacy, 
 which the will of her most unnatural father (for 1 must 
 ever call him such) had left her no choice to make, whe- 
 ther she revolted at it or not. Imagine, then, the 
 horror of the distracted maid, as well a wife, who was 
 dragged forth by the fanatic laws, to take the veil for 
 life, from which nothing could absolve her, but the 
 presence of her lover and husband, and he was far dis- 
 tant in a foreign clime, unconscious of the pangs that 
 assailed her young and tender heart, who though still 
 a vestal, was yet a wife ; their marriage rites having 
 been solemnized in the most private manner, ere she 
 left the village in which she was born, and in the pre- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 357 
 
 sence of her nurse, to whose care she was consigned, 
 till she went to the convent of Mariette Mouline ; that 
 her husband, the young Lord Delfritia, had only time 
 to make her his wife, ere the next moment he was obli- 
 ged to leave his young and beauteous bride, to follow 
 his father to the field, on a foreign land ; and when Ade- 
 laide entered the walls of the convent, she was a wife, 
 with no mortal witness to her innocence, but the priest 
 who had performed the sacred rites, and her old nurse 
 who was bound over by the Lord Delfrida, to keep the 
 fatal secret, till he should return to claim his young 
 and beauteous wife, and emancipate her from the walls 
 of a convent's melancholy gloom. — 
 
 But, alas '• Ferdinand, that day arrived too late, 
 for my unhappy sister ; soon after she beheld me, she 
 was forced by the infernal Benvolio to enter on the 
 terms of her conventual vows ; and the very evening 
 that she had signed and sealed the fatal contract, Del- 
 frida arrived, and concealing himself behind one of 
 the arches, found means to make himself known to the 
 beloved of his soul, and to inform her that he was 
 then come to gratify those vows he had so long sworn. 
 Ah! what were then the feelings of the self devoted 
 Adelaide ? — and what the remorse, and the compunc- 
 tion of her unfortunate lover, when the fatal truth was 
 revealed, and an insurmountable barrier was plac- 
 ed between them ? Here, Ferdinand, could I close 
 the veil on a sister's sorrows, and a sister's shame : how 
 would a brother's heart exult in the ecstatic thought, 
 that I could indeed proclaim her guiltless ! but, alas ! 
 the frequent meetings which my unhappy sister (too 
 late) obtained with the man her soul adored — and he 
 adoring her,--who was, in the sight of heaven, her hus- 
 
358 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 
 
 band, soon led to a fatal discovery of her whole inter* 
 course with Delfrida ; who one evening, when "vespers 
 were over, concealed a billet to the beloved of his soul, 
 behind the arch, appointing Adelaide to meet him 
 there, where they had so often met before. 
 
 The argus-eyes of an invidious, jealous, antiquated 
 old nun, who envying the happiness of my sister, as 
 well as for the possession of that attractive loveliness 
 which not even in the period of her youthful days, had 
 ever been hers, watched from the moment that she beheld 
 Delfrida quit the holy cloisters ; rushed to the fatal 
 arch, where the remembrance of fond love was deposit^ 
 ed, and stole it from thence ; where devouring the con- 
 tents, — to her most precious, because it placed the 
 lovely victim, whom before she hated, completely in 
 her power, — she next sought an interview with the ab- 
 bess, and laid the billet before her ; who, enraged with 
 her holy temple of chastity being thus defiled, sent for 
 the ghostly confessor, the fatlier Benvolio, and dis- 
 closed the heinous crime of the young sister, Adelaide ; 
 beseeching him to inflict the accustomed punishment 
 on such an offender, and to use his authority with the 
 utmost severity. 
 
 For awhile, Benvolio was stunned with the intelli- 
 gence ; for the charms of the youthful Adelaide had 
 often been the object of his most secret and voluptuous 
 desire and ardent admiration ; which had he dared to 
 have sued for the possession of, without fearing an open 
 exposure of his guilty passion, the pious, virtuous pro- 
 fessor of religion's sacred laws would have done it 
 without burthening his conscience, without aDy regret 
 at evincing the reputa|.ion of a young and lovely fe- 
 male ; the reverend gentleman would have made his 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. - 359 
 
 peace with heaven very easily for having committed 
 so gross an indecency, and so abominable a crime, had 
 he not dreaded exposure and disgrace, and a dismissal 
 from his place of high authority ! This was the only 
 fear before the eyes of the holy father Benvolio ; no 
 other^ fear possessed him. — So much for priests and 
 holy friars ; who do not always employ themselves in 
 counting their rosaries, and fasting and praying, or in 
 contemplating the human skeleton, when flesh and 
 blood, cloathed in youth and beauty, ■ step between 
 them and their pious orgies. They are then mere men, 
 with no more philosophy or virtue to boast of than 
 those human beings whom they deem the sons of error 
 and the daughters of indiscretion. 
 
360 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; 
 
 His can't be wrong, whose life is in the right : 
 
 In faith and hope, the world will disagree, 
 
 But all mankind's concern is charity. 
 
 All must be false that thwart this one great end : 
 
 And all of God, that bless mankind or mend. 
 
 Man, like the generous vine, supported lives ! 
 
 The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IF such were the sensations of Benvolio^ towards 
 my sister, as I have described, imagine, Ferdinand, 
 the jealous rage which possessed him on the discovery 
 of her apostate vows, and that she was no longer the 
 pure and vestal saint he so secretly sighed for the pos- 
 session of, and had so long silently adored ; and on 
 whom he now had the full power and authority in his 
 hands, to inflict the severest punishment that the laws 
 of the convent inflicted for so heinous an offence ; 
 in the meanwhile, every means was taken, to prevent 
 the approach of Delfrida again, to the presence of his 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 301 
 
 unfortunate, and too fatally beloved wife, no admis^ioa 
 being in future granted to any strangers whatever, 
 within the walls of the holy sanctuary : in conse- 
 quence of which imperative order, all acq^ss to the 
 lovely victim of cruelty was barred between her and her 
 unhappy husband ; and who, neither by bribery, tears, 
 prayers, or entreaties, could prevail upon the superiors 
 to permit him to obtain an interview (although only 
 in their presence) with the distracted Adelaide: who 
 having been obliged to confess her fault, threw her- 
 gelf prostrate at the feet of Benvolio, and implored 
 him with streaming eyes and a beating heart, to inter- 
 cede with the abbess to mitigate the horrible sentence 
 that was pronounced against her. Oh I Ferdinand - 
 do I live to pronounce what that sentence was ? — eten 
 now does not my blood run cold at the thought that 
 such would have been the fate of my unfortunate sis- 
 ter, had not her gentle spirit fled to skies of eternal 
 peace, ere the inhuman monsters had time to prepare 
 their infernal rites over the devoted victim of their re- 
 morseless cruelty ? For it is decreed in the cursed 
 convent of Mariette Mouline, that those who forfeit 
 the conventual vow, after having once solemnly taken 
 it, are condemned to suffer a lingering death, by starva- 
 tion, in a solitary cell ; where none are permitted to 
 approach thwn, or supply them with a morsel of food, 
 on peril of their lives. And when this sentence was 
 pronounced on my unfortunate sister, she fainted and 
 was carried senseless to her chamber, where she re- 
 mained for many successive hours in a sort of stupor, 
 to which succeeded the most incoherent ravings of 
 wild and unutterable despair ; piercing the hearts of 
 all around her, saving those more impenetrable tlvan 
 16. 2 z 
 
362 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 the flinty rocks, and more deaf than the raging ocean ; 
 and those hearts beat in the bosoms of the abbess, 
 Mariette, and the father Benvolio ! and he, it was, 
 who accelerated the sufferings, and hastened the 
 death of my unhappy sister *. who, when returning rea- 
 son again resumed its throne, became apparently more 
 colleoted, and expressed an earnest petition, to com- 
 mune awhile with her ghostly confessor. ■ The petition 
 was granted, though with evident constraint on the 
 part of Benvolio ; for, although he now abhorred the 
 fair form on which before he had gazed with such 
 eager delight, and although the sight of her awakened 
 no dormant sensations of pity in his savage breast, yet 
 he feared that she would excite the sympathy of others, 
 who had some strong and powerful influence on the 
 liiind of the abbess, and thus retard, though they could 
 not avert the just sentence of her doom. 
 
 With a slow and measured step, therefore, and his 
 face covered with his cowl, Benvolio approached the 
 cell of the condemned and guilty sister, the young and 
 so lately blooming Adelaide; and with a st^rn un- 
 shaken voice, he pronounced, — 
 
 * Adelaide Aubigny, I am commanded by our good 
 and pious lady, the blessed Mariette, abbess of this 
 convent, to attend to your confession. Thou art a vile 
 profaner, and a grievious sinner ; and much it doth 
 * '^^ shock me to see one so young guilty of so foul a crime 
 
 as that which thou hast confessed : still it behoves one 
 of my sacred and holy calling to whisper peace and con- 
 solation to thy guilty souK' 
 
 'Peace and consolation, holy father, is not in thy pow- 
 er to give me !* cried my sister, raising her meek eyes 
 to heaven, as if alone she coukl expect it there ; ' hope 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 363 
 
 Hot, therefore, that thy presence can alleviate my suf- 
 ferings ; or thy ghostly counsel can in any shape give 
 my fainting spirit one ray of comfort I—I am young, 
 and it is terrible to die the death you have decreed 
 me ; still, I do no fear it for myself alone.' 
 
 The eyes of Benvolio strayed for a moment from 
 beneath his cowl, and rested them on the cKquisitely 
 lovely form of the youthful Adelaide. Pale was that 
 cheek, which only yesternight had blushed with tbfe 
 colour of a morning rose ; and dim were those eyf^s, 
 that like the starry firmament of heaven, shone in deep 
 blue, with full etherial brightness ; and blanched those 
 roseate lips, that like twin rose-buds on one stem, but 
 half disclosed the snowy blossoms that embalmed the 
 fragrant leaves that did enfold them! and the holy father 
 trembled ere he pronounced the awful sentence once 
 again to Adelaide, that she must die the cruel death, 
 that the forfeiture of her sacred vows had so justly me- 
 rited ;— yes, even the stern father Benvolio, as he ga- 
 zed on the beauteous frail one,— paused ! — and drawing 
 his cowl hastily and in quick confusion around his 
 face, to avoid the glance of an object, so likely to be- 
 wilder his pious calling, he exclaimed, in a struggled 
 tone, unwilling that she should suspect the cause of 
 his emotion, — 
 
 ' Daughter, if thou hast no fear for thyself, when 
 death shall be inevitable, for whom else fearest thou ? 
 
 To which, my sister, now in a firm undaunted tone, 
 instantly replied, — 
 
 ' For that, which being innocent of a mother's crime, 
 should not be destined to meet a mother's punishment, — 
 a babe, which never yet has seen the light ! and for 
 that babe I do implore that pity which thou deniest to 
 
364 
 
 me, holy father. Let nature plead, nor plead in vain ! 
 let me not die a death so terrible ! — spare my infant ! — 
 let it but behold the light, and then lead the wretched 
 
 Adelaide to her fate.' 
 
 Wholly unprepared for such a confession from the 
 lips of his beauteous victim, and one of such a nature, 
 the holy father stood aghast : large drops of perspira- 
 tion hung on his brow ; for the law did not decree, 
 that the innocent should suffer with the guilty ; much 
 less, a babe, who though unborn, had life and breath 
 within the bosom of its mother : and, like a thunder- 
 bolt from heaven, the intelligence which the wretched 
 Adelaide had given, struck him dumb ; for if her preg- 
 nant sitaktion was really tru*^ the sentence passed on 
 her could not be put in force till after her delivery ; 
 and the hply father was for awhile frustrated in his 
 immediate punishment of the unfortunate Adelaide, 
 although her crime was now double in his jealous and 
 enraged eyes : and without acquainting her with his 
 diabolical purposes of cruelty, he secretly resolved to 
 sacrifice the child of his now more than »ver mortally 
 detested rival, Delfrida, as soon as it was destined to 
 1>ehold the light, by means of poison infused into its 
 nourishment ; as a terrible revenge towards the woman 
 whom he in secret so long sighed for the possession of. 
 To effect this direful revenge, however, it was abso- 
 lutely necessary to conceal his demoniac intentions from 
 the hapless victim of his vengeance ; and to wear the 
 semblance of concern for the dreadful condition, to 
 which her indiscretion had reduced her : and while Ade- 
 laide waited in the most breathless expectation, for 
 liis reply, the crafty and insiduous priest had time to 
 recover his seJf-possessiQii, which, but for a moment 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOTJLINE. 365 
 
 before, had utterly abandoned hiin ; and softening his 
 voice as much as the nature of present circumstances 
 could possibly admit of, he addressed the wretched 
 suppliant in the following words :— 
 
 * Daughter, thou hast much offended against the 
 holy laws of heaven, which thy youth and thy loveliness 
 had made a fit subject to inherit the kingdom thereof : 
 thou hast been tempted by the evil one, — and thou 
 has sipped of the guilty cup of licentious pleasures, 
 which he has offered to thy taste ; — and the wages of 
 sin is death ! — yet, for the infant thou bearest in thy 
 womb, the proof of thy shame, and thy pollution, that 
 death will be protracted, till thou bring it forth, also, 
 as the living witness of thy foul disgrace 1' 
 
 ' But ray infant will not die 1* now wildly exclaim- 
 ed the frantic Adelaide ; whose feelings now roused 
 to a pitch of insupportable agony, again threw herself 
 at the feet of the ghostly confessor, and grasping at a 
 part of his long flowing robes, pressed her pale and 
 quivering lips to the hem of his garments, and implor- 
 ed him, if she brought forth a living child, to spare 
 Its tender life, and conceal it in the convent of Mariette 
 Mouiine, and bring it up (if a female) as one of the 
 vestal votaries ; or, if a male, a monk of the holy order. 
 
 The holy father trembled beneath his cowl ! an in- 
 stinctive shuddering pervaded his whole frame ; for 
 demon as he was, he felt a woman's power in an an- 
 gel's shape ! her snowy hand still grasped the hem of 
 his flowing robes, and, in her distracted wildness, the 
 veil that concealed her lovely face, dropped on her shoul- 
 der, over which her luxuriant chesnut hair fell in clus- 
 ters, while her heaving bosom confessed her struggling 
 
366 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 sighs, and panted with alternate hope and fear I and 
 in spite of himself, Benvolio felt that he could not long 
 resist her suit ; and half subdued by the powerful elo- 
 quence of lovely woman, — and most of all, the only wo- 
 man that he ever loved — he uttered in a yet more soft- 
 ened accent, — 
 
 ^ Adelaide Aubigny, you ask of me too much', 
 your child will be preserved without my means. The 
 convent of Mariette Mouline was never celebrated for 
 the commission of murder, and our good and holy lady 
 would not sanction any injury offered to a babe that 
 cannot answer for its parent's indiscretion. Fear it 
 not, daughter, — the life of the babe will not be endan- 
 gered for the sake of its guilty mother, but how it 
 will be disposed of, I cannot tell.'— a pause ensued. 
 
 * But you will not see it perish, will you, holy fa- 
 ther ?' uttered the weeping Adelaide, who saw that her 
 confessor was powerfully affected by the strong ap- 
 peal she had made to his feelings, and that he, con- 
 tending either for or against them, never had Adelaide 
 beheld the holy father so moved ; and, seizing on the 
 happy moment that oft decides the fate of lucky mor- 
 tals, when the soul of man is taken by surprise, ere his 
 half-formed resolutions have the power of unbounded 
 sway, she took the hand of her confessor, who, a stem 
 prelate — a philosopher, (or one that would be deemed 
 so) — a holy, pious man .' had not the power to draw 
 it away ; and Adelaide washed it with her tears, and 
 again preferred her petition that he would be the pro- 
 tector of her child. 
 
 The touch of her snowy hand thrill»d to the 
 heart of Benvolio, together with her uncommon and 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINE. 367 
 
 attractive loveliness of her person, that tremulously he 
 now pronounced — 
 
 * Adelaide Aubigny, you— you— have conquered: 
 
 if thy infant lives, it shall be protected, and by me. 
 But mark me, Adelaide, thou beauteous lovely mas- 
 terpiece of nature's finest works, it shall own no other 
 father ; — mark you that, Adelaide I Never to mortal 
 shall the child of Adelaide Aubigny be known, but to 
 Benvolio I — Hear me, girl ! none, but the spell-bound 
 influence that you possess over my heart, (the source 
 of which I hardly can divine the latent cause of) has 
 obliged me to give you a patient hearing ; and, by the 
 same potent influence to promise you protection to the 
 babe, who is innocent of your crime, — on one condi-. 
 tion only will I grant it, Adelaide.' 
 
 " Oh, name it, name it! blessed father !' uttered my 
 frantic sister ; * so thou wilt spare my infant, I will fall 
 down and worship thee !' 
 
 ' I will do more on your instantly acceding to the ' 
 terms I offer,* crieil Benvolio ; ' I will recommend 
 you to mercy, to mitigate the sentence you have re- 
 ceived. You shall not die the death that is decreed, 
 but live to lead a life of repentance in the holy cloisters, 
 while heaven permits you, so thou wilt sign a paper 
 with thine own hand, that Delfrida may never possess 
 a right— ay*affeer'« right— to claim your child. Let us 
 have no further parley, Adelaide, for neither your 
 tears, nor your intreaties will again prevail. I have 
 gone beyond the limits of prudence in the pity and the 
 indulgence I have shewn to you, — do not compel me to 
 revoke the promise I have given you, for my resolution 
 and my purpose cannot now be changed -.-—save your 
 own life, and that of your infant's, while yet it re- 
 
366 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CEAIR ; 
 
 mains within your power to do so, — or, refusing, 
 meet the horrible and dreadful fate to which you are 
 consigned, — which only awaits the moment of your de- 
 livery : the next— your new-born babe will be torn from 
 a mother's first embrace, and the cradle that pillow's 
 its head will be — a mother's grave : while its own little 
 pulse of feeble life will be protracted for a few short 
 hours ; deprived of a mother's support, it will lan- 
 guish ! droop ! and perish !' 
 
 * Perish !' uttered Adelaide, with a wild involuntary 
 shriek ; ' forbid, every kind and pitying power, that 
 the dear babe, for whose sake I have already suffered 
 more than a mother's pangs, and for whose little life 
 1 would drain the dearest drop that flows in the foun- 
 tain of this beating heart, should perish, — as thou say- 
 
 est, forme! For me, who, but for that, am now 
 
 reckless of life itself ! yet, to renounce every claim on 
 the author of its being, is dreadful ! but, since there is 
 no alternative, but death to both, holy father, give me 
 the fatal contract, and I will sign it ; and for the 
 wrong I do to thee unwillingly, Delfrida, may heaven 
 pardon me.' 
 
 There was a malicious smile which now played on 
 the lip of Benvolio, as handing a paper over to the 
 trembling hand of the almost frantic Adelaide, wh# 
 now seated herself at the table, in her little cell, on 
 which, were the immediate implements for writing ; 
 and a triumphant joy in his countenance, which he 
 could scarce conceal, visibly betrayed itself; when he 
 pronounced in a softened tone, as her trembling fingers 
 feebly grasped the pen,— - 
 
 * Possess thyself with fortitude, daughter ! this is 
 no moment for a woman's weakness, or a womiAn's 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 961^ 
 
 fears'— tremble not, when you are doing that which is 
 just and right.' 
 
 ' Is it just to deprive an helpless infant of the pro- 
 tection of its natural father ?' demanded Adelaide : 
 'does inhumanity accord with justice ?— Answer me 
 that, holy father ?' 
 
 Never could an humble suppliant have put a more 
 unfortunate question to a stern oppressor of nature's 
 laws ; for instantly the face of the holy father became 
 infuriated with rage and momentary jealousy : and 
 darting a look at Adelaide, fully expressive of his of- 
 fended feelings, he exclaimed, — 
 
 * I shall answer you nothing, proud girl, nor will I 
 be so interrogated ! sign the paper, — or — or — suffer 
 the sentence of your doom ! which, however severe, 
 you have provoked by the measure of your crimes ; 
 and which, should you again demur, I swear by holy 
 Paul, shall not be revoked. Hear me, Adelaide Au- 
 bigny,— shall not ! Thou knowest the power of Ben vo- 
 lio ; dread the hour that you will be obliged to fear 
 it ?' 
 
 No other stimulus was now necessary : Adelaide, 
 without a murmur, without a sigh, without a tear, 
 signed the passport to the eternal misery of her 
 wretched and despairing husband ; resigning the care 
 and protection of her child (if it survived its birth) to 
 the protection of the father Benvolio, the superior 
 professor, and ghostly confessor of the convent of Ma. 
 riette Mouline : and instantly snatching it from her 
 hand, he rapturously exclaimed with the smile of a 
 demon, — 
 
 * Now, daughter, I will believe that thou repent- 
 est of thy crime : thou hast done wisely ; I therefore 
 
 16 3 a 
 
370 THE MYSTERIES OF ST, CLAIR *, 
 
 now pray thee, be comforted, for I will see all thin«^s 
 ordered for thy immediate safety ; and speak to our 
 holy lady, on the purpose of my visit here, — and cauti- 
 ously disclose the condition, to which I blush to own, 
 thy indiscretion has brought thee.' 
 
 ' Ah ! do I not feel them in my bleeding heart ?' 
 uttered the weeping Adelaide* * Must I needs be fur- 
 ther reproached for them, after the sacrifice I have 
 made of all that is dear to me in mortal life ? My hus- 
 band, will he not despise, condemn, and renounce me 
 for evermore, when he finds that I have given up his 
 child, to be protected by other hands than his ? Oh ! 
 holy father ! can I do more, to expiate my fault, 
 which in your eyes is so heinous ? and will you be less 
 merciful than heaven itself, who deals^out mercy to all 
 mankind, unworthy as they are of its bounteous bless- 
 ings ?* 
 
 The voice of Adelaide was melody, — her look an 
 angel's, — her tears the proof of her repentance : and 
 Benvolio again felt the power of her bewitching elo- 
 quence ; and also felt her power over his heart, which 
 made it necessary that he should immediately retire 
 from the sight of so seducing an object, ere he himself 
 fevealed a secret, he trembled to unfold. 
 
 He turned from her, therefore, although with an air 
 of kindness, as he drew his cowl more closely over his 
 face, to conceal sensations, he was both ashamed, and 
 pride and Lis holy calUng forbade him to discover : 
 while in a smothered tone he bade her farewell ; add- 
 ing, as he slowly departed from the cell : — 
 
 * Adel&ide Aubigny, fear nothing ; you shall not be 
 treated witli the accustomed severity, of a guilty siv«5ter, 
 but, pu, the contrary, shall receive all Uie indulgence 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 371 
 
 that your'situation requires ; the sister Agnes shall at- 
 tend you constantly, with all that may be befitting 
 your hapless condition : you know she is kind and gen- 
 tle, and far unlike the other lay-sisters of the convent : 
 to night 1 will send her hither ; so farewell, daughter, 
 and peace be with thee." 
 
 On these words, the holy father departed, leaving 
 the afflicted Adelaide, as he supposed, much comforted 
 by his ghostly council, and perfectly satisfied with the 
 means he had used to save her ; and with a sensation, 
 which none but a demon-like breast such as his, 
 would have felt, under similar circumstances, that 
 he had triumphed in the most successful revenge 
 that mortal ever felt over a detested rival ; who could 
 never more possess the charms of the beautiful 
 Adelaide, or yet have the pledge of their mutual 
 love, t3 console him for the pangs of being eternally 
 separated from the woman that he adored, although 
 it was a secret passion, long concealed in the inmost 
 recesses of his soul : and that any mortal, but himself, 
 should have possessed those transcendant charms, was 
 a mortal stab to his disappointed hopes, and a suffici- 
 ent cause for the present motive of the diabolical re«- 
 venge he had planned for the destruction of Delfrida's 
 child ; for it is certain that, such had been his secret 
 intentions, the very moment that Adelaide had inform- 
 ed him of her state of pregnancy, he determined, for 
 the completion and gratification of his perfect revenge 
 over the hapless victim of his cruelty, if her child was 
 living at the time of its birth, that it should not live long 
 afterwards ; but when Adelaide implored him to pro- 
 tect her infant, and to bring it up, to take the holy 
 vows in the convent of Mariette Mouline, he could not 
 
372 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 withstand the witchery of her tongue, or refuse her so- 
 licitations, and he abondoned the idea of consigning 
 it to an untimely end : but^ the thought struck him, 
 that he could he revenged on his hated [ rival by de- 
 priving him of a father's right to protect his child, 
 by compelling its unfortunate niother to sign a paper, 
 wherein she delivered up her child to the father Ben- 
 volio, for the good of the sacred church, as some 
 atonement for the forfeiture of the conventual vow, and 
 to make her peace with heaven ! 
 
 This point achieved, was beyond his most sanguine 
 expectations ; and his influence over the mind of the 
 abbess being unbounded, he very easily prevailed with 
 her, to accept of the proposals made by the wretched 
 and penitent Adelaide, that she would give her child to 
 the convent, and pass the remainder of her days (if 
 heaven permitted her) in the shades and retirement of 
 the holy cloisters ; for, though the Lady Mariette was 
 a Btern, strict, and immaculate follower of the holy 
 creed, — yet she was neither unkind or unforgiving in 
 her disposition ; and the youthful Adelaide having been 
 high in her good graces, when she considered her as 
 the greatest ornament of the holy sisterhood, she felt 
 more solicitous about her state, which was now truly 
 alarming and critical ; and accordingly, the sister 
 Agnes, the lay-sister, was fixed upon as the most pro- 
 per personage to be employed about the person of the 
 now considered penitent Adelaide Aubigny. The 
 holy father had imformed the abbess, that he had left 
 Adelaide perfectly composed and satisfied with the ar- 
 rangements she had made respecting her infant, and 
 the kind intercession that had been exerted in her be- 
 half; and the abbess gave herself no farther concern 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 373 
 
 about the matter, intending to visit the penitent in pri" 
 vate, at some future and more convenient opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 But the holy father was mistaken, with respect to 
 ihe tranquillized feelings of my wretched sister ; for, 
 oh ! Ferdinand ! that persecuted and much injured an- 
 gel was destined to breathe her last sigh in a state of 
 mortal existence, on the very night that her ghostly 
 confessor quitted her ; remorse and compunction hav- 
 ing so forcibly worked upon her already anguished 
 feelings, for the supposed injustice and injury done to 
 her beloved Delfrida, no sooner having signed the 
 fatal contract to Benvolio than she repented of it, and 
 reviled herself, as the author of the consequences of 
 the misery that would ensue, when Delfrida should dis- 
 cover that his child was lost to him for ever ; and 
 that she herself had consigned it to the convent of Ma- 
 riette Mouline, within whose gloomy walls it would be 
 enclosed during the whole term of its mortal exis- 
 tence. 
 
 It is no wonder, then, in the distracted and agita- 
 ted state of her tortured mind, that it prodttced the 
 most alarming effects on her delicate frame ; and that 
 when the lay- sister came, by the order of the abbess, 
 to attend her, that she found the pangs of child-birth 
 rapidly advancing, and lost no time in procuring her 
 the assistance which she so immediately stood in need 
 of ; but before the accoucheur arrived, my poor unhap- 
 py sister, in a moment of unutterable agony, bad given 
 a premature birth to a living female-infant ; whose 
 healthy appearance, although under every unfavourable 
 circumstance of its birth, denoted that it was likely to 
 be long a sojourner in this world, instead of making a 
 
3*74 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 
 
 hasty exit out of it ; and Agnes proud of the little smi- 
 ling treasure that had burst so suddenly on her sight, 
 bestowed every care and attention on that and its un- 
 fortunate mother, that it was possible, in the confusion 
 and consternation that such a sudden event had occa- 
 sioned : and the abbess being immediately informed 
 of it, gave orders that every thing that was necessary 
 should be provided for the comfort and convenience of 
 the suffering invalid ; but unavailing were the efforts 
 used for her recovery, and fruitless the attempts to save 
 the devoted victim of love and jealousy ; for notwith- 
 standing that she appeared composed for many hours 
 after her delivery, she expired in the arms of the sis- 
 ter Agnes, long before the morning's light broke in 
 upon her, to tell her that she was the mother of a beau- 
 teous babe, to the inexpressible grief and horror of all 
 around her, to witness the distressing and awful event; 
 but so perfectly composed and conscious of her ap- 
 proaching end, that she seemed rather to rejoice than 
 lament, that she was about to quit a world in which 
 her pleasures had been but few and fleeting, and her 
 sorrows great and piercing. 
 
 A few moments before her departure from a state of 
 mortal existence, she called the sister Agnes to her 
 bedside, and addressed her in the following affecting 
 and impressive words : 
 
 ' Sister Agnes, weep not that you behold a sister re- 
 leased from all mortal suffering, in a world where peace 
 never more could be the inmate of a wretched bosom 
 like mine ; and where, accused of crimes, I could only 
 live a life of penitence and shame. But of what crime 
 sister Agnes, have I been guilty ?— surely none that 
 forbids me to enter the blest abode of saints and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 375 
 
 angels ? — for love, Agnes, — hallowed and pure,— was 
 implanted in the human breast by the God of holy 
 nature ! It was not the influence of an evil spirit who 
 gave it life and birth, or it had never reigned at all. 
 Heaven designed it for the blessing of its creatures, 
 and not for a brand of infamy, or Adam had lived for 
 himself alone, and no Eve had been wanting to com- 
 plete the happiness which God had made. His wisdom 
 thought it necessary that man and woman should be 
 uhited together in bonds of tender love, ere the pur- 
 poses of human happiness could be accomplished. 
 With this impression on ray youthful mind and heart, 
 did I first open to the dawning of reason ; and I had 
 never been taught to believe otherwise. My nurse, 
 Margaritte, in whose care 1 was placed till the age of 
 sixteen, was a woman of strong intellect and tender 
 feeling ; and, besides being most passionately fond of 
 me, had an insuperable objection to a monastic life, — 
 she abhorred the walls of a convent ! and, although 
 it was my father's wish that I should enter one, it was 
 her's to bid me shun it, and inspire my young heart 
 with detestation towards the possessors of it. I 
 loved my nurse, Margaritte, even as my mother, for 
 I had never known any other ; her's was the voice most 
 dear to me, and 1 listened to no other, till I beheld the 
 gallant and accomplished young lord who was at once 
 the author of my happiness and my misery. 
 
 Sanctioned with the approbation of Margaritte, he 
 approached me in the language of love, and won, by 
 his repeated solicitations, I became his wife, ere he 
 went to the wars ; and it was during the long period 
 of his absence that I was forced into the convent of 
 Mariette Mouline ; which, when I repulsed the cruelty 
 
S76 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 and injustice of, in violence to my inclinations, I was 
 told by the professor that it was the will of my father 
 that I should take the holy vows, and be shut from the 
 intercourse of the world for ever. Affrighted at the 
 stern decree, and conscious that I was already a wife, 
 I clung to the bosom of Margaritte, and for a while 
 resisted every effort to be torn from her,-»-but in vain ; 
 neither her enfreaties nor mine prevailed ; and amidst 
 my distraction and despair, I was taken forcibly away, 
 and carried before the abbess, Mariette Mouline ; before 
 whom I preserved a sullen and disdainful silence as to 
 the nature of my religious principles; but whose kind- 
 ness and soothing attentions for a while reconciled me 
 to the severity of my fate : and every indulgence being 
 granted to me by the superiors of the convent, 1 began 
 to imagine that I should not be compelled to take vows 
 that my heart revolted at ; but I was mistaken, for the 
 holy father Benvolio was invested with the high au- 
 thority of the abbess, to prepare me for the sacred 
 ceremony which she insisted should be no longer 
 delayed ; and I will confess, could any influence have 
 prevailed, it would have been that of the father Benvo- 
 lio ; for oft was I charmed with his powerful elo- 
 quence, and for a moment felt irresolute whether I 
 should or should not take the conventual vow : — and 
 well it may be said, that the woman who once deliberates 
 is lost! — and trembling lest by any means my clandes> 
 tine marriage with Delfriila should be revealed, I had 
 recourse to dissimulation to conceal the anguish of my 
 heart, and for a while listened to the holy father with 
 apparent satisfaction ; all which was reported to the 
 abbess, who was delighted with the intelligence ; 
 and future indulgences were granted to me under the 
 
OR, MAHIETTE MOULINE 377 
 
 impressioQ that I should shortly take the holy vow : 
 and you know, sister Agnes, the jealousy this excited 
 in the breasts of the sisterhood, who beheld the atten- 
 tions I received from the abbess and the father Benvo- 
 lio, with the most malicious envy and ill-nature ; one 
 in particular, singled me out for the victim of the most 
 direful revenge ; and, alas ! to a fatally succeeded to 
 bring a ruin down on my head* 
 
 The sight of my adored Delfrida, one evening, when 
 vespers were over, who had concealed himself behind 
 one of the vaulted arches, and watched for the moment 
 that I passed them, overwhelmed me with surprise and 
 astonishment too great for utterance; and need I say, 
 that our feelings of transport were mutual and ecstatic, 
 and sweet as they were short-lived and fleeting. I in- 
 formed him precisely of my situation in the convent ; 
 and in what manner I had been spirited away from 
 the house of Margaritte, and forced into the convent; of 
 how I had been treated there ; and believing that he 
 never would return again, to claim me as his wife, or 
 had forgotten his once lov*d Adelaide, had only that 
 morning signed the fatal seal, to lead a life of celibacy 
 for evermore : at which intelligence, my beloved Del- 
 frida endured the moat insupportable pangs of grief, 
 horror, and despair. 
 
 ' Adelaide,' uttered he, * you have destroyed your- 
 self and me : one only alternative remains, — consent to 
 it, or see me perish before you. I will not live without 
 you : you are my wife, in the sight of heaven, by holy 
 and honourable vows of the chastest affection, and I 
 will not have you torn from me thus : though this con- 
 vent were consuming in flames of fire, I would rush 
 forth, and in spite of the laws, which man edily kath 
 16 3 b 
 
378 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 made, snatch you hence, and proclaim to the face of 
 the whole world, that you are my wife ! Consent, then, 
 my Adelaide, to fly Avith me for ever from these hated 
 walls : choose rather the arms of the man that adores 
 you, and who is your husband, than be immured in a 
 solitary cloister's gloom ! and fear nothing, while this 
 arm can protect and shield you from every harm — from 
 every evil that can assail you. I will hasten and con- 
 sult with Margaritte, on the best means to effect your 
 escape without discovery; and in the mean time, 
 will meet you here every evening, after vespers are 
 over, till we form our intended plans. In this arch, 
 should any accident prevent my seeing you at the ac- 
 customed hour, I will deposit a billet, expressive of my 
 sentiments, and the cause of your not beholding me,— 
 with further instructions how you are to act in a situ- 
 ation so perilous as ours.' 
 
 One parting kiss, sister Agnes, sealed the contract 
 between us. I was resolved to fly with Delfrida, and 
 hesitated not a moment to comply with his solicitations ; 
 and who shall be rigid enough to condemn me, sister 
 Agnes, or prove that I was guilty of a crime that ab- 
 jured me from the forgiveness of heaven? was it not 
 with my husband that I consented to fly ? I did not 
 act unchastely or unholily, when I afterwards met 
 Delfrida several times in private. No ! I feel that 1 am 
 innocent, although loaded with the imputation of guilt. 
 But to proceed with my sad tale : — I had agreed to 
 escape from the walls of the convent, on the very night 
 that a discovery was made by a billet, which Delfrida, 
 not seeing me, had deposited behind the fatal arch 
 which so often had witnessed our tendec meetings, 
 but which now proved our utter ruin, and frnslration 
 
OR, MARTETTE MOULINE. 379 
 
 of all our liopes and wishes. Whose hand discovered 
 it there, thou knowest,^heaven pardon her, as I 
 do now, for there her power of mischief ended! — 
 and thou also knowest the fatal consequences which 
 ensued from this discovery, and what tortures, both of 
 mind and body, I have endured since that fatal moment 
 of all my climax of human misery ; for, obliged to 
 confess that I should shortly become a mother, to the 
 holy father, he extorted, in the trembling moments of 
 wild and unutterable despair, a promise, that in easel 
 should give birth to a living child, that I should offer 
 it up to the convent of Mariette Mouline, or in other 
 words, resign it wholly to his protection, depriving 
 Delfrida of any natural right to claim his child; 
 
 * Holy Maria i' uttered the sister Agnes, in the ut- 
 most astonishment, ' and did the holy father Benvolio 
 condesoend to make you this offer, which he has de- 
 nied to thousands. It is mysterious and strange what 
 could be his motives, to wish to deprive a father of his 
 child ! but, sister Adelaide, you surely did not grant 
 him his request ?* 
 
 To which the languid sufferer replied, * have 1 not 
 told you that I have already signed the fatal contract 1' 
 
 * Which cannot now be recalled,' exclaimed the 
 sister Agnes, casting a look of peculiar, and almost 
 undefinable expression on the beautiful babe that slept, 
 unconscious of the destiny that awaited it, by the side 
 
 of Its unfortunate mother; < unless * added the 
 
 sister Agnes, lowering her voice to the softest whisper. 
 
 ^ Unless what, dearest sister?' eagerly demanded 
 Adelaide, and catching new life at the new-born hope 
 •which stole across her imagination. 
 
 * Unless we could deceive the convent of its expected 
 
380 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 sacrifice,' uttered Agnes, looking fearfully around her, 
 as if the slightest whisper should escape her ; * there is 
 nt)ne to tell whether the babe were born living or dead ; 
 none has seen it ; — what, if the holy father were told 
 that the infant is no more ? — I have the means to con- 
 ceal, if it be thy dying wish, sister Adelaide, as I guess 
 it is/ 
 
 The dying Adelaide grasped the hand of the compas^ 
 sionate angel, whose heart bled for her injuries and 
 her sorrows. 
 
 * And wilt thou save the offspring of my Delfrida ?' 
 uttered she : * ah ! if thou hast indeed the power to bear 
 my precious babe from these hated walls, hasten to 
 perform the charitable deed, — and may angels ever- 
 more bless and eternally reward you !' 
 
 * I swear, by the God of my fathers, that I will pre- 
 serve it from the hands of Benvolio,' uttered the sister 
 A^nes, crossing her bosom with the most passionate 
 fervor. ' Three miles distant from this convent, in a 
 retired and secluded spot, lives a devout and holy wo- 
 man, who is a foster-sister of mine, and thither will I 
 convey my precious charge ; and well I know my sis- 
 ter Bertha, — trust-worthy have I ever found her ; she 
 would perish ere that infant would be touched with a 
 hand of harm. Art thou now satisfied, my sister, with 
 the promise that I now give thee ?' 
 
 No answer being returned by the languid sufferer, 
 to this kind interrogatory of the sister Agnes, she be- 
 came fearfully alarmed, in the apprehension that this 
 persecuted angel had either suddenly fainted, or that 
 her gentle spirit had fled to its native skies, exhausted 
 by a conversation so painful to her feelings, and which 
 io her present situation she was but ill calculated to 
 
OR, MARIETTE fttOULINE. 381 
 
 support ; and running to the bedside, she softly drew 
 aside the curtains, and there found that her fears were 
 -verified ; for all that remained of the once beauteous 
 and blooming Adelaide Aubigny was a pale, lifeless 
 corpse ! — To have applied restoratives, the sister Agnes 
 (who was accustomed to witness the scene of death too 
 frequently in the convent of Mariette Mouline) knew 
 was useless and unavailing, for the vital spark was fled 
 for ever ; and being the midnight hour, she was resol- 
 ved that this distressing, though to her expected catas- 
 trophe, should not be communicated to the abbess or 
 the father Benvolio before the morning ; during which 
 time, she would also remove the infant far beyond their 
 reach or their enquiry,--by giving out that it died sud- 
 denly of a disorder in its bowels, and being contagious, 
 she had it immediately removed from the chamber of its 
 mother, placed in a coflin, and privately interred in the 
 holy chapel ; such being the custom of the convent, on 
 the least suspicion that contagion was likely to take 
 place, and such was the fear of the superiors, on such 
 occasions, that she well knew that no further enquiry 
 would be made in the business. 
 
 Her first thought, therefore, after composing in de- 
 cency, the body of the departed Adelaide, was to take 
 charge of the lovely innocent, who slept unconscious 
 that the last sigh of an expiring mother had been 
 breathed beside of it. She was alone in a gothic cham- 
 ber, far removed from the inhabited part of the convent, 
 and no mortal eye was there to watch her motions.— 
 Tkere was no time to be lost, for the first break of 
 morning would awaken the superiors, and call them to 
 attend to their respective duties ; and dreadful as the 
 thought was of leaving the corpse of Adelaide without 
 
382 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 an attendant, yet the necessity of such an expedient 
 could no longer be delayed ; and wrapping a large 
 cloak around the sleeping babe, and nestling it close 
 to her bosom, she softly crept along the corridor, hav- 
 ing secured the chamber which contained the remains 
 of the unfortunate Adelaide, from any intruder, till 
 she returned to discharge the melancholy offices that 
 still were necessary to be performed. But what was 
 to be done with the babe till she could safely bestow it 
 in the hands of Bertha, whose cottage was on the skirts 
 of the forest, above three miles distant from the con* 
 vent of Mariette Mouline, and to journey there in so 
 short a space of time was morally an impossibility ?— 
 But prompt were the actions, as well as the thoughts? 
 of the sister Agnes ; she had been used to think and 
 act for herself, and that is tlie most useful and neces- 
 sary lesson in the whole world. In convents the lay- 
 sisters have unnumbered privileges, and are allowed 
 more liberty than those who have entered on the holy 
 vows, and are generally employed in attendance on 
 those nuns never permitted to mix with any society, 
 but their own particular class; consequently, the sister 
 Agnes availed herself of all those that she had a right 
 to, from the long established rules of the convent ; and 
 let herself out of a private door, that led to a few strag- 
 gling cottages, the inhabitants of which, were support- 
 ed by the generosity and compassionate bounty of the 
 abbess, and the holy sisterhood ; and Agnes was fre- 
 quently employed by the young nuns, on missions of 
 charity to the suffering poor, which she always dis- 
 charged faithfully, often throwing in her own little 
 mite^to contribute to the relief of her fellow- creatures. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 383 
 
 She was therefore well known to them, and deservedly 
 respected for the humanity of her disposition. With a 
 hasty step and a panting heart,— panting for the safety 
 of the little treasure she was so solicitous to preserve, — 
 therefore, she gently tapped at the cottage of an old 
 woman, to whom she had been uniformly kind and 
 charitable, and was instantly admitted within the little 
 lonely hut ; and no sooner was the latch closed upon 
 them, than Agnes uncovered the face of the babe, 
 while in a voice marked by agitation and extreme ter- 
 ror, she exclaimed, — 
 
 < Edith, thou knowest me well, and that I do not 
 come here on idle business.— I am in haste, to re- 
 turn to the dead mother of this babe, who expired a 
 few hours after its birth. I have potent reasons at 
 present, for concealing it from all mortalj eye, but 
 more especially from the superiors of the convent: take 
 charge of it, till you behold me again ; and as you 
 value life, betray not your trust : so shalt thou prosper 
 in the sight of heaven, and receive the reward of thy 
 fidelity to sister Agnes. The morning breaks ; I must 
 away :— make fast thy door, and let no one enter : 
 there is money for thy present uses,--let the dear 
 babe want for nothing, that can prolong and cherish 
 its tender, helpless state ! So, farewell, Edith, and 
 may all good angels guard thee.' 
 
 ^ Even as my life, will I cherish it,' answered the 
 old woman, and cautiously closed the door again, after 
 the now affrighted Agnes, who almost breathless with 
 terror, once more reached the entrance of the corridor, 
 tripped lightly across it, and gained sufficient time to 
 enter the gothic chamber, and perform the melancholy 
 
duties towards her now lifeless and inanimate charge, 
 before any discovery had taken place, that she had 
 been absent, or the slightest suspicion formed, that 
 death had cropt the sweetest floweret in the convent, 
 low ; and that it never more would shed its blooming 
 beauty there I 
 
Ok, MARIETTK #OU[lNB. 385 
 
 CHAPTER XFIL 
 
 <* Oh listen, listen, ladies gay ! 
 No haughty feat of arqis I tell : 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 Thf re (f re jtj^iity pf Rq^n's b^ops boW, 
 Lie >vithin that proud chapelle ; 
 Each one the holy vault doth hold, 
 But the earth iholds 4ovely Rosabelle. 
 
 And each Si. Clair was buried there. 
 
 With candle, with book, and with knell 
 
 IB^ the ^ea-cave3 rung, and the wild winds supg - 
 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabelle." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THERE i$ nothiog so con^c^atory to the feelings as 
 the consciousness of having performed a kind and 
 charitable action, and discharged our duties to hu- 
 manity. It is the brightest spark that shines on the 
 altar of compassion. It consoles us in the most glopmy 
 and adverse hour of misfortune 3 and cheers us when 
 no other ray of comfort is nigh : and it lessens the evils 
 of which we complain, and enables .is to endure pa- 
 rt 17 3 c 
 
386 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAFR ; 
 
 ticntly the reproaches that are cast upon us — because 
 we proudly feel that we do not merit them, and that 
 we are suffering more from the faults of others, than 
 having committed them ourselves. And so felt the sis- 
 ter Agnes, as she silently watched the return of the 
 morning's first light breaking in roseate tints through 
 the azure sky ; and, opening the casement, she inhaled 
 the balmy incense of the breathing morn that gave fresh 
 lustre to each blooming flower; for she had gazed on the 
 lifeless form of the beauteous Adelaide till tears fell 
 over the pale cheek she so lately had beheld in the? 
 spring of beautyandofgrace J and would have lamented 
 her untimely end, had not a warning voice whispered 
 that it was a hand divine that had recalled her to 
 her native skies, and forbade her to murmur at the 
 work he made : yet, when she cast her eyes on the 
 beauteous form of the still lovely victim of love and cru 
 city, she could not suppress the sigh that involuntarily 
 sprung in her bosom, nor stay the falling tear, on the 
 reflection that so lovelyand amiable a creature was con- 
 signed to the w^ithering tomb ; who, treated with less 
 severity, might have lived to grace a fond husband with 
 her mi^ny virtues and various perfections---the happy 
 mother and the prudent wife. And much as the sister 
 Agnes had been taught to look up with respect and 
 reverence to the holy father Benvolio, she couUl not 
 but accuse him as the ultimate cause of this fi^rr <frfea- 
 .ture's sudden demise — by the terror he had impressed 
 on her imagination, and the pangs he had inflicted on 
 her gentle heart, when he compelled her to sign tfie 
 fatal contract, that separated her child from all worldly 
 happiness with the author of her being. This was the 
 blow that was destined to strike deep in a mother's 
 
OR, MARIIiTTE MOULINE. 387 
 
 heart, and had wrought so powerfully on her agitated 
 feelings, as to produce the pangs of child-birth, with 
 which she had been so suddenly seized, and after- 
 wards as rapidly occasioned her dissolution; which, 
 the moment she beheld her situation, her fears had pre- 
 dicted would shortly ensue. But Agnes had been the 
 means of soothing and tranquillizing the feelings of 
 the departing sufferer : even, at the point of death, she 
 had made her a sacred promise to preserve her child 
 from the convent's tyrannic power, and to conceal it 
 from the knowledge of the Father Benvolio ; and Ade- 
 laide, though she could not speak, had died happy in 
 this consoling thought. But had not Agnes promised 
 more than she was able to perform ? Perhaps she did — 
 but who shall condemn her for the kind intention ? How 
 oft do we promise, and through the direst necessity, 
 are compelled to forfeit it ! 
 
 ' ^* Still Agnes was resolved to useevery means in mor- 
 tal power, to shield the lovely babe from the tyrannic 
 and absolute slavery of a conventual life : — but what 
 was she to do with the child of Adelaide, when it ar- 
 rived to the years of maturity ? How could she provide 
 for its support — and where find her natural protector ? 
 For it was very unlikely that^ circumstanced as she was 
 in the convent of Marie tte Mouline, she could ever 
 search out the wanderings of the Lord Delfrida, who 
 had probably by this time left the country, which was 
 the source of so much misery to him, since a barrier 
 was placed between him and his lovely unfortunate 
 Adelaide for ever. He would never have been permit- 
 ted to have seen her more, had she been still in a state 
 of JiJortal existence; and, therefore, her infant would • 
 be entirely left on her hands, without her having any 
 
^^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 provable mea«is of providing for its support : for what 
 is the subisistertce of a lay-sister, wholly supported by 
 the bounty of the Abbess, and receiving but very little 
 for h6r attendance on the holy sisterhood? Agnes 
 kfi«f^^ that it ^as ioadequate tostrppjj her own wants, 
 tHtiKih less those of the child ^ the care of which must 
 iitiw, by her own incautious promise made to its dying 
 ttf^yther, Wholly devolve on her : and for a moment, the 
 bewildered and perplexed Agnes half repented that 
 her compassionate feelings for the unhappy woman 
 hstd superseded those of self-interest and of prudence. 
 '' It is very seldom and rare, indeed, that interest is 
 forgotten ifi tvorldly affairs, even though the happi- 
 ness and peace of our nearest and dearest kindred ties 
 are at stake ; yet Agnes, when she promised the dying 
 Adelaide to protect her child, had overlooked hers 5 
 and for a moment, she repented that she had done so— 
 btrt the? next ttris ashamed that she permitted herself to 
 y'ield to so mereenary a sensation. She looked at the 
 i^till beatitiful, thoWgh pale and inanimate form before 
 her, whose last expiring sigh had probably been waft- 
 ^ to heaven, by the consoling reflection, that her last 
 earthly \Vish had been accomplished ; and, perhaps, the 
 d^ing saint had offered up for her a prayer, which was 
 fkjcepted at the throne of mercy; and why should she 
 repent of doing good to the unfortunate ? — Agnes, 
 therefore, while only in the presence of her Creator, 
 prostrated herself on her knees, at the foot of the bed. 
 Where the lifeless body of Adelaide was laid, and pray- 
 ed that the helpless innocent that she had taken charge 
 of, might never (through her means) J3e rendered 
 wretched, or destitute, or be neglected : and that he 
 who clothed the lilies of the field, and provided food 
 
OR, xMAI?IRTTE MOULINB. 389 
 
 fdi^ th^ Sparrow, might be a father to her, when she 
 no longer could supply its necessities. 
 
 " Aftd was not the prayer of the pious and the virtu- 
 osos Agnes heard ?-^Ah ! who shall doubt it ? When did 
 the plaint of the truly virtuous ever sue in vain, or when 
 wasihe confidence pk<jed in the goodness of the Om- 
 nipotent ever deceived > 
 
 ^' And somewhat cahned in the tumultuous and fear- 
 ful beatings of her heart, for the safety of her little ten- 
 der charge, she repaired at a proper hour to the holy 
 board, and there disclosed the catastrophe, which had 
 taken place so suddenly, as to baftleall human means 
 to prevent it. 
 
 " * Adelaide Aubigny, dead !* exclaimed the abbess, 
 turning pale with astonishment ; * but who shall per- 
 vert the decrees of the unerring judgment of the 
 mighty high One ? The maiden did commit the foulest 
 sin that ever did blot a maiden's memory 5 and she 
 hath paid the forfeit of her life in the punishment that 
 was prescribed to her : yet I would that the babe had 
 been spared to atone for a mother*^ sin against the 
 purity of our blessed convent, which she hath defiled 
 by her apostate vows. Thou sayest^ Agnes, that the 
 infent perished with its mother ? 
 
 " ' Of contagion in its bowels, So please yon, holy 
 lady,' uttered Agnes, in a somewhat tremulous and 
 faultering accent — so true it is that, * they who follow 
 simple truth, are unwilling to forsake it:* ^ yet it 
 died not with its mother : but no sooner did I petceve 
 the danger that it threatened our holy community with 
 than 1 hastened to remove the corpse ; decently inter 
 ring it in the holy sepulchre that is without the convent 
 walls : And sOttife few hotirs had scarcely elapsed, when 
 
390 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 the mother too was seized with the same mortal dis- 
 temper/ 
 
 " ' Then it were well that she too were quickly re- 
 moved/ uttered the abbess. * Go, sister Agnes, straitly 
 to the holy confessor, the father Benvolio, and bid him 
 hasten hither, that I may commune with him on this 
 sudden event, and give orders for the funeral of our 
 frail and unfortunate sister ; over whose untimely fate 
 let us each shed a tear. Alas ! that beauty should en- 
 chant the eye only to doom it to its self-destruction ! 
 Adelaide Aubigny was the fairest flower that my eyes 
 ever looked upon*: what a pity that it did not own the 
 semblance of purity that so sweet a maiden looked V 
 
 " The abbess, as she uttered this sentence, heaved a 
 mournful sigh responsive to her feelings; which were, 
 notwithstanding her austere and rigid calling, by no 
 means ungentle ones : while Agnes flew to obey her 
 mission, and found the father Benvolio alone, and stu- 
 dying — what ? — not the sacred volume, wjiichpious and 
 holy men like him ought to do, who are priests at all — 
 but spread before him was the portrait of a lovely wo- 
 man ! and so deeply engaged was the holy man in the 
 contemplation of its beauties, that he heard not the 
 light step of the sister Agnes, as she approached him ; 
 nor listened to her soft voice, which timidly pro- 
 nounced — 
 
 '^ ^ Holy father, a good morning to you ! and peace 
 to thy blessed and pious orgies T 
 
 " To which no answer being returned, Agnes tripped 
 smartly on, and being close at his elbow, there dis- 
 coisered, to her utmost surprise, and profound astonish- 
 ment, the object at which he was so earnestly gazing — 
 H was the portrait of Addaide Aubigny! and, per- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. ' 391 
 
 fectly hoiTor-stnick at the sight, from an idea that the* 
 once lovely original was now a livid corpse, she uttered 
 a loud and involuntary scream, which very quickly 
 aroused the holy father from his pious meditations ; 
 who, equally under the influence of terror and dismay, 
 that he had been so discovered, in the secret nearest 
 his heart, became instantly infuriated with the direst 
 passion : and very roughly seizing the arm of the af- 
 frighted sister Agnes, fiercely demanded to know, by 
 what authority she had presumed to enter on his pri- 
 vacy. 
 
 '^ But Agnes knew that her cause was good ; and the 
 authority she held at this moment in her hands at least 
 equal, if not superior -, and very resolutely answered — 
 
 " ' By authority of the abbess of this convent, Mariette 
 Mouline, I come hither, holy father, on an errand of 
 no small moment, and in wliich your presence is im- 
 mediately required, in the holy lady's apartment; and 
 truly, on a most melancholy oecasion, for it concerns 
 Adelaide Aubigny.' 
 
 ^* A different expression now took possession of the 
 infuriated countgiance of the holy father: rage had lost 
 its power ; and, in a calmer accent, he falteringly prQ- 
 nounced — 
 
 " ^ Adelaide Aubigny 1' — 
 
 " * Is no longer a sojourner in this land of suffering 
 and sorrow ! — her spirit is departed !' 
 
 *' A ghastly palenesss overspread the face of the fa- 
 ther Benvolio. His eyes glared wildly; and it was 
 some moments before he could demand in what man- 
 ner and at what time this sudden and. unexpected 
 catastrophe had taken place : apparently wishing to 
 conceal as much as possible the deep concern and dis 
 
992 THX MVSVEftlES ©F *!•- CI.AIR J 
 
 m0-y tto^ tlii» inidligeoce had occasioned him t© ex- 
 pedenoe, Awd having leamt the whole partioulars of 
 ib^ <ieftth of the once t>)eautiful Adelaide^ and that hei* 
 iiew-t>om babe had also perislied with its frail and iwi- 
 foftmiate mother, whose portrait he had purloined fro«i 
 the gallery of pictures, in the private chapd belonging 
 to the young Boviciaie-- -he secretly determinod to 
 place itiii its former situation, without the theft being 
 discovered by any of the su|M3riors ; hoping at the same 
 moment that it had escaped the eye of Agues, on her 
 entrance to the apartment. His first thought w^h 
 therefore, )to dismiss her as quietly as possible, without 
 Jjetraying any of those violent emotions, either of grief 
 -or ar^er, that he had exhibited at the first intelligence 
 he had r^'eived of the death of his lovely victim : and 
 lidjiJiig hei* to tell the pious lady that he woy kl foith-- 
 with attend her presence, Agnes departed, with no vio- 
 flieiit pr increased predilection in favour of the saintly, 
 ghostly fraternity, who, professing to fast and pi^y, 
 and count their beads, amuse themselves With gazing 
 OD what is forbidden in their holy creed — ^lovely 
 womajii ! 
 
 . '^ Thus perished, Ferdinand, in the full bk>oui of 
 youth and loveliness, my young sister; who had been 
 consigned to the precincts of the dark and mouklering 
 tomb nearly four years when I left th« college of St. 
 Ambrose, and practised as a professor of lem^iing in 
 the several districts and provinces adjacent to trliis 
 country. I had been informed of the sudden demise 
 of my unforUmate sister officially, as b&ng the only 
 relative she prossessed, by the professor Paulini; and 
 was^in cons.equonoe, put in immediate possession of 
 tb« little patrimony which, if she had survived, would 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 393 
 
 have been equally divided between us : but I was kept 
 in profound ignorance of her clandestine marriage 
 with Delfrida, her state of pregnancy, or the subse- 
 quent cause of her sudden dissolution. It was one of the 
 mysteries of the convent of Mariette Mouline ^ and was 
 never divulged through the crafty zeal and influence of 
 the insidious Benvolio — to mortal probability, in the 
 fear that a brother's love, for the wrongs of aa un- 
 happy sister, would be roused to seek vengeance on 
 her destroyers, and expose them to some reproaches on 
 the immaculate purity of their religious practices : and 
 in this conjecture they would not have been mistaken, 
 had I once known of the cruelty and severity they had 
 inflicted on my dear and unfortunate sister ; or that 
 she had been a wife or a mother. This thought had 
 alone roused me to madness. But, happily for me, 
 and the succeeding events of my life, I knew not of the 
 misfortunes of my ill fated sister ; and when informed 
 of her death, wept for her only the tears that nature 
 cannot restrain o'er the tomb of beloved relations, but 
 to which, after a time, we become reconciled, from the 
 reflection that it is the mandate of almighty Provi- 
 dence, whom it is our imperative duty to obey with- 
 out a murmur or a sigh, after those which holy nature 
 claims. And, in due course of time, I began to 
 consider the death of my beloved sister with a calm 
 and philosophic eye, viewing it as one of those 
 natuifal calamities which must inevitably attend the 
 lot of all who live in a state of mortal existence : 
 and the active duties in which I was constantly 
 engaged, gradually softened the grief that I felt 
 at her loss, had I been left idle and unemployed to 
 b\7 3d 
 
394 THE MYSTERlSs 'OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 brood in solitude oVe^r^^'1[ttsfortune vvhich was tiiiil^ 
 voidable. ^"^ f ^oi i^wl 
 
 ^^ At length, having obtained tli'#'nDtice of a falnfifiy'fif 
 distinction, in Vienna, who had employed me in occa- 
 sional visits to the younger branches of their family, 
 I went with them in the humble capacity of a tutor, on 
 a continental tour to Italy, and the countries adjacent ; 
 in which I not only acquired the happiest improve- 
 ment myself, and the most useful information in the 
 science of foreign literature, but constantly imparted 
 it to my youthful pupils ; whose knowledge was so 
 increased by travelling, and paying the most unre- 
 mitting attention to the lessons and practical hints that 
 I daily furnished them with that at the expiration of 
 two years we returned to Vienna; when the noble 
 lord who was at the head of this illustrious family, 
 died suddenly of a contagious disease, caught in the 
 warm climates, to which he had so recently been ex- 
 posed 5 and I was, in consequence of his demise, dis- 
 missed the service of my late worthy master, the youhg 
 noblemen being deemed of a proper age to send to 
 college for the completion of their education. But, in 
 justice to the noble family whom I served, I was not 
 dismissed without receiving some marks of their nni- 
 nificence ; each of the young gentlemen presenting me 
 with a most liberal testimony of their gratitude and 
 ^respect for the instructor of their juvenile days.' "'And 
 once more I embarked on a wide world in seat-ch of- 
 , what had ever eluded my pursuit — the smiles of da- 
 ' pricious fortune : and the first intelligence f gained in 
 Vienna was, that the ghostly confessor of the conV«^nt 
 of Mariette Mouline, the father Benvolio, was invested 
 
. OB, tMA^IETTE mouline. 5$95 
 
 with the rights and privileges, and presented in 
 due form, by the Emperor Josephus (by whose in- 
 *fluencje and the Lord Albino's he had obtained this 
 dignified station) to the court of Vienna, as Cardinal : 
 and was, bearing all these honours, likewise made 
 treasurer and prime agent and counsellor in the castle 
 of .St. Clair, in the absence of the Lord Albino, during 
 his continuance in the wars ; for which service a most 
 sumptuous establishment was provided for him : and 
 sa great was his influence over the Lady Margaret 
 Albino, that nothing could be done of any moment in 
 her affairs, without obtaining permission of the now 
 Cardinal Benvolio to approach her presence. 
 
 *M know not why, Ferdinand, that at this intelli- 
 gence I should experience sensations which amounted 
 to little short of envy (to call it by the mildest term 
 that was possible) at the shining and splendid honours 
 jyhich had been heaped on the head of this saintly hy- 
 pocrite, for the reward of virtues to which I believed 
 he had but little claim ; while real merit and real virtue 
 were neglected — perhaps despised — because they had 
 no means of displaying it, and no encouraging smile of 
 patronage to bring it forth ; and after heaving a mourn- 
 iul and unavailing sigh at the caprice of fortune, who 
 ^vides her gifts so unequally, I determined to travel 
 to Bohemia ; feeling, I know not by what secret im- 
 pulse, an unconquerable aversion to this saintly idol of 
 a man, at whose magnetic shrine all worshipped ; and 
 J recollected the words of my young and beauteous 
 .sister, that in his presence she had always trembled, 
 and that by his stern commands and official authority, 
 ,.J was debarred from ber beloved presence, and a bro- 
 ther's friendly intercourse with her; I say, Ferdinand, 
 
396 THB MYSTE RIBS CMP 8T. CJLAIR ; 
 
 that at this period I could attribute the uticonquerable 
 '^version I felt towards this man to no other cause than 
 that so spoke of. Never having as yet o'btained a sight 
 of his person, I knew him only by name; and that stood 
 Wgh in the estimation of an admiring world — bat not 
 "An mine 5 and I hated the Cardinal Benvolio, for hav- 
 ing idepi-ived me oiP the society of my sister. Per- 
 ^tous monster! had I, indeed, then known wh^t 
 l^a-usc 1 had for niy hatred towards him, he had fallen 
 ihe victim of a brother's vengeance, even though I 
 had paid the forfeit of my offence with death, so that 
 i had satiated my revenge on the fell destroyer of Acfe* 
 laide Aubigny. But, to proceed, I had a wild romaTi- 
 tic thought Avhich presented itself in as wild a manner 
 to my then bewildered imagination, that if I journeyed 
 to Bohemia, I might chance to mend my fortune, which 
 now began to wear by no means a smiling aspect; not 
 that I was destitute, or in want of j>ecuniary aid, for I 
 had stil! my little patrimony at my command, and to 
 which the death of my sister had made some small 
 addition ; and I had not been unprovided while in the 
 service of the noble lord with whom I had passed four 
 yeartj^'of my life in comparative ease, and even splen- 
 dor. But it was owing to this very circumstance thai 
 I was now rendered wretched and unhappy; for I had 
 acquired a taste for polished society, while on the con^ 
 tinent, and had lost all relish for any other, when i 
 returned to Vienna, and was so suddenly deprived of 
 my noble patron : besides, in Vienna 1 could obtain 
 no lucrative situation ; there were already too many 
 of my own profession : and after the death of Lord 
 Granville, 1 could not stoop to accept of an establish- 
 ment inferior to that which I had formerly possessed ; 
 
OB, MARIETTB MOULINE. 397 
 
 , J, f ' • -- - , 
 
 and having heard much in favour of the character of 
 .the Lord Albino, (who had just returned from a suc- 
 jCessful cami>aign,) and that he had a young son, grovir- 
 ing into manhood, I bethought me of making an ap- 
 plication to the Lord Albino for becoming his preceptor: 
 and as every action of mine was prompt as the occasion 
 seemed pressing, I took my departure from Vienna on 
 \he very day that I had formed my intended plans. 
 \ had taken a guide and a couple of mules to expedite 
 my journey to the borders of a country with which I 
 was totally unacquainted, and we set out, on a fine 
 clear sun-shiny morning, and having many gloomy 
 'orests to pass through, I found the conversation even 
 ( f my humble companion, who was both lively and in- 
 telligent, far more agreeable than my own sad and 
 melancholy reflections; for I contemplated the un- 
 certainty of my being able to obtain a situation in the 
 Castle of St. Clair, and whether, on my arrival there, 
 I should not sustain a disappointment to all my hopes 
 and wishes — or meet with a cold reception even from 
 the lord of the illustrious house : besides, the hated 
 Cardinal Benvolio again floated across my imagina- 
 tion ; and as we slackened our pace, to give the mules 
 a little breath, to ascend the almost inaccessible and 
 steepy mountains by which this country was on every 
 .side surrounded, and having nothing better to talk of, 
 L. carelessly inquired of my guide if it were true that 
 the professor Benvolio, of the convent of Mariette 
 Mouline, was made a cardinal by the Emperor Jo- 
 scphus. 
 
 "^ For,' continued 1, 4 have been absent fi-om Vienna 
 a considerable length of time, and am profoundly igno- 
 
S98 THB MVSTEtll^ W^W? ciSlR ; 
 
 'Mt 6F-^1ib changes which have taken place since I 
 mitted it.' :^^ B^Hfe*?^^^^^^'^ ^ ^ ^fPf^^^- 
 
 ,* , ,_.-:.! ,. _"i..» ..r.-. j1 .1.---. i, .^ -.1.. — j^j.| 
 
 •" **To which, with much meafmng in his quaint aira 
 fl^erry countenance, the guide replied — ".' 
 
 . ^'*"'A pox of all such cardinals as he,'! Sajrl tlioiigIS 
 F believe he has got the devil's luck and his own tb(l^ 
 as the saying is. If he had been a poor man he might 
 have waited for a place till there was a blue moon shin- 
 ing on a frosty mountain, before he would have fell 
 into such preferment. Why, Lord love you, sir, the 
 folks in our great city do talk of nothing else, but 
 about this priest being made a cardinal ! more shame 
 for the emperor, I say, to do any such thing, when so 
 tnany brave fellows, who have been fighting in their 
 country's cause, and have had their precious limbs 
 lopped off in his service, do perish for a morsel of 
 bread, in a foreign land ! If this be the reward foif W-» 
 ing a soldier, and following a soldier-like life — why 
 the devil take the wars, I say ! It is enough to make a 
 man murmur, sir, that hath a bit of pluck about him, 
 #hen he sees such foul play going on, while he is drain- 
 
 S' g every drop of blood in his carcase, and fighting 
 e battles of his country; when he returns home to 
 his native land, deprived of his precious limbs, and 
 Jaraisliiog for want, to see a parcel of lazy, idle, cant- 
 ing priests, eating of the fat of the land, and stuck up 
 in places of high authority, for doing nothing at all, as 
 a body may say, but leading us, poor simple souls, 
 astray, with what they call the light of the gospel: but 
 Ej pox to their lights, I say ! every man that is a chris- 
 tian soul, knows who gave him life and breath, and 
 ^ihanks him for it, without wanting the like of them 
 
PR, MARIETTB MOULINE., . 399 
 
 telling u§ of it, and that are no more saints than our- 
 selves, for all their preaching and their praying — but 
 they do not fast, though — take that with you. There 
 is many a fat turtle made into dainty soup, and deli- 
 cate pastries to cram the maws of the ghostly friars 
 and holy fathers, as they are called, in y©n convent of 
 Mariette Mouline : and this same Cardinal Benvolio 
 was as fond of licking his chaps over a hot supper^ i^ 
 the best of them, and smacking his lips at a glass of 
 cherry-brandy. For you must know, sir, that about 
 a year ago, my old dame used to wash for the con- 
 yent, though poor souls, they do not pi\t on much 
 Unen, with them frightful cowls drawn over their brows, 
 to hide their pretty faces ; yet, as I hope to be saved, 
 sir, my Jeannetta s^ such goings on, as would uiake 
 the hair on your head stand out like bristles on the 
 back of a porcupine.' ' So,* says she, ' Juddi, if this be 
 religious folks, that would scorn to do wicked dealings, 
 why the less they talk of it the better, tbat is alU* 
 ' Why what didst thou see, Jeannetta ?' cried I. 
 
 " ' That which I never wish to see again, Juddi,' 
 answered she ; * for there were the priests, and the 
 friars, and the nuns, all in oue room together^ md 
 they were at ' 
 
 '/ ^ At what, Jeannetta ?* uttered I, ^ they could not 
 be jdoing wrong, surely, in the blessed convent of 
 Mariette Mouline. What were they at, then, Jean- 
 netta, that thou speakest so roughly of them ?' 
 
 " * They were merry- making, and drinking wine, and 
 eating pastry— when they should be fasting and pray- 
 ing,' answered my old dame ; * and I do not think, 
 Juddi, they have a bit more nun's flesh about them 
 than I have, for all the counting of their beads, and 
 
400 THE MYSTERIBS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 their going three times a day to mass : for if this be 
 religion, Juddi, we had better be without it ! and my 
 old dame never did a hand's stitch for the convent af- . 
 terwards, sir.' 
 
 " It was a moral impossibility to resist smiling at the 
 increased jocularity of my talkative companion ; but I 
 had heard enough from him, to convince me of what 
 kind of estimation the character of the Cardinal Ben- 
 volio was now held in by the inferior classes of society, 
 and that his christian virtues were only assumed under 
 a mask of smiling hypocrisy and deception, which 
 I did not doubt would be exerted in the illustrious 
 family by whom he was protected : at length we ar- 
 rived on the borders of St. Clair, and having lost sight 
 of the stupendous mountains, iftruck into a path 
 which led to a pleasant valley, over which nature had 
 thrown a lovely vernal green, interspersed with a thou- 
 sand wild and fragrant flowers, which diffusing their 
 blooming sweetness on the open air, as the shades of 
 evening were softly and imperceptibly stealing on us, 
 gave the beauteous valley an appearance of a fairy 
 landscape, only inhabited by the fairy race, who sipping 
 dew from every blossomed spray, and dancing on the 
 silver ray that sheds its light on the bosom of the 
 ocean, mix not with the substance of the grosser earth ; 
 and I thought of the beautiful allusion made by the 
 immortal bard, in the Tempest out of the mouth of hiS*''' 
 pretty Ariel, when he says, 
 
 << Where the bee sucks, there lurk I: 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie; ( 
 There I couch when owls do cry.] 
 On a bat*s back do I fly, 
 After sunset, merrily. -- >> 
 
Merrily merrily shail I live now. 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough, 
 
 Merrily merrily shall I live now. 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." 
 
 *' But my guide presently convinced me, that it was 
 no faiiy scen(?' tHatf presented Itself to. our .eyes, and 
 wtiich I was contemplating with such delight and 
 wonder ; and he pointed out to my observ^ation, a little 
 lonely hut, in the form of a hermitage, almost concealed 
 by the foliage of the deep surrounding shades, from 
 whence issued a glimmering light, more calculated to 
 bewilder thfe benighted traveller, than to serv^e him as 
 a beacon to guide him on his way : and imagining it to 
 be the abode of some solitary hermit, I exclaimed, — 
 
 **' And why should not man live apart from his kin- 
 dred race, aAd find content in shades so pleasing and 
 sequestered, if that kindred face have treacherously 
 betrayed ? for, 
 
 " Are not these woods more 
 Free from peril than the envious court ? 
 Here feels he but the penalty of Adam— 
 The ^^sou's diiference.' " 
 
 ^^ ^ True, sir, ' cried my pleasant and facetious guide ; 
 * bmt if a man has nothing to subsist on in woods and 
 wiidfe, he had better not live at all. I am thinking, 
 mountain-berries uid mountain-water may suit the pa 
 l9j^^ pf ^oEBelolks : but give me some more substantial 
 iare, I say, and plenty pf it, whensocKer 1 can catch 
 it.. Bat you are out in your reckoning, sir, if you take 
 jthiit msVig little dweiiing to be a hermit's hut : no, 
 f^iXk ! it has ^amething ^better to boast of, for it beloug- 
 eth to a woman, as kind a soul as ever breathed, thougsh 
 4ihc wicked fo-lks in Vienna do say that she be a witch : 
 but nritchjior no witch, she never refused to help poor 
 
 c 17 > 3b 
 
402 THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 folks, that cannot help themselves ; and if this be be- 
 witching a body, why I wish I may be bewitched every 
 time I cross the threshold of dame Bertha's door!' 
 
 " * Cross the threshold of her door !' uttered I, feel- 
 ing the most resistless curiosity, from what he had 
 said, to behold her 5 ^ and do you think it likely that 
 she will give us shelter for a few hours in her habita- 
 tion, seeing that we are now benighted travellers, and 
 there is no house of entertainment at hand, where we 
 can call for refreshments, of which, truly, honest fel- 
 low, we stand in much need? We have journied far, 
 and I am weary with fatigue.' 
 
 To which he instantly replied, 
 
 " ' That will 1 manage for thee, master, if thou art 
 so desirous of halting awhile on the road. Bertha will 
 give us both meat and drink, and never ask thee for 
 the price of the banquet, so thou dost not tender it 
 unto her, or speak of the rumours that are spread 
 abroad of her bewitching folks when they do journey 
 through this country.* 
 
 " * It is not likely that I should be guilty of such ab- 
 solute folly,' uttered 1, determined to enter the abode 
 of this woman, by any means that was possible : * they 
 must be base, indeed, who sharing the rights of hospi- 
 tality, perfidiously return it by ingratitude 1' 
 
 " On these words, which appeared highly satisfac- 
 tory to the guide, we drew up our horses' heads to the 
 hut, when, to my surprise, Juddi, taking a small whistle 
 from his pocket, blew a blast tolerably loud, and 
 which soon brought a female to the door, of so singu- 
 lar an appearance, that I own, for a moment, I was led 
 to imagine, that there was some foundation for the 
 strange story that went about her ; not that I had any 
 
403 
 
 belief in supernatural agency, or that she possessed any 
 more power than mere mortal : but I could easily cre- 
 dit any impression made by her on the unlearned, and 
 the profoundly ignorant and credulous mind ; for her 
 very look seemed to threaten impending danger to all 
 she glanced her scowling eyes on. She was habited 
 in complete armour, save that a short red petticoat 
 descending from her waist to nearly her ancles, denoted 
 her to be of the feminine gender, with long raven 
 tresses that flowed in profusion over her broad and 
 certainly fine-formed shoulders : her height was gigan- 
 tic, yet dignified, graceful, and commanding; and her 
 countenance, expressed, by strong and peculiarly 
 marked features, the violent passions of her mind. 
 Stiil, there was a vestige of sorrow, more than any 
 other expression, that appeared to have given place to 
 pride, and a sense of injuries not very patient of 
 endurance, which, however, was apparently concealed 
 by a strong mastery of passion, on our approach to her 
 little dwelling. On her head she wore a helmet, with 
 a plume of black feathers descending o'er her brows, 
 which, in her youthful days, had certainly possessed no 
 inconsiderable claim to beauty ; but she appeared to 
 have reached her fortieth year, although there were 
 but few marks of the ravages of time on her fair, 
 smooth, and open brows 5 and she might have passed 
 for a much younger woman, had not a deep shade 
 of melancholy been gradually impressed on features 
 which, if done justice to, had still been handsome and 
 even youthful. i r^yv?^ f 
 
 ^^ I know not, Ferdinand, by what secret impulse I 
 w^ led, at this momeut, to regard this woman with 
 peculiar sympathy, when in gentle tones she denaanded 
 
404 THB MYSTBRIBS OF ST< CLtilR ; 
 
 to know of the guide, what business he had to approach 
 her dwelling at so late an hour, and what was his 
 errand there ? On which, the guide whispering a few 
 words in her ear, we were immediately admitted into 
 the lonely little dwelling; which, notwithstanding the 
 appearance of its solitary and sequestered walls, exhi- 
 bited a splendour within which baffled all description^ 
 and which filled me with wonder and astonishment noi 
 to be expressed 5 for there were not only the most deli- 
 cate viands set out with refreshments, but wines and 
 fruits, of the most delicious quality, placed before us, 
 in an apartment very little infer jor to some of tho 
 houses of public resort that I had frequently visited 
 when in Italy, — with this ditference only, that there 
 was that air of luxuriance and gaiety, which so oh 
 invites the senses to voluptuous pleasures, rather than 
 create a solid enjoyment for the tranquil blessings of 
 life. And the extraordinary mistress of this mansion 
 having pointed to two chairs, next , to Jfe^e tahl^, bade 
 us sit do\Vn and |>artake freely of the banquet wbicb 
 was spread before us ; in the mean time, as \ thought, 
 riveting her eyes on me with a peculiar expression, 
 which seemed to be excited by the most involuntary 
 surprise, for which, at this moment, it was impossible 
 for me to account ; and 1 felt conscious that 1 blushed 
 deeply, wheh, in a voice somewhat marked by agita- 
 tion, she exclaimed, — 
 
 " 'And whither, good Juddi, art thou travelling a 
 this late hour, with j^on stranger ?' 
 
 " ' To the castle of St. Clair,' answered he 5 ' though 
 I must be e'en bold enough to say> that 1 do not think 
 we shall reach it between this aad the hour of midnight* 
 Tbertt k Ihe Blftck Forest yet to cross, and belike we 
 
OR, MARIETfE MOULINB. 406 
 
 may chance to meet with no very pleasing compa- 
 nions on our journey thither. Didst thou hear, dame 
 Bertha, of the Bohemian soldier, who was murdered 
 there by the robbers, on the night of the carnival at 
 Vienna ?' 
 
 " To which she replied — now scowling on Juddi an 
 angry glance, but apparently wishing to conceal that 
 he had excited a momentary sensation of displeasure — 
 
 ^^ ^ How should I know that which is false ! — ^There 
 was no murder committed in the forest, on the night of 
 the carnival : but a poor, solitary, wretched monk, 
 who sustaining some deep injury in the convent of Ma- 
 riette Mouline, was doomed to suffer the tortures of 
 the rack, by the Cardinal Benvolio : he escaped the 
 threatened punishment, and fled from ihe presence of 
 his unjust accusers : as he journeyed through the 
 forest, the robbers sought not his life, but protected 
 him. Thou shouldst learn truth, ere thou slanderest 
 even the name of the wicked. When thou journeyest 
 back again to Vienna, tell them the tale was false, and 
 that Bertha told thee so.' 
 
 *' 'I did not think my words should so offend thee, 
 dame Bertha,' cried the guide, winking significantly 
 to me as he spoke, although I perceived that he was 
 under the impression of some terror, at having raised 
 the choler of the reputed witch; ^for, by my good 
 faith, I would not care the value of a single stiver, if 
 all the monks in Christendom had been murdered in 
 the Black Forest.' 
 
 ** ^ So thou escaped thyself,' retorted she. 'Poor fool ! 
 thou speakest truly. Self is the god of idolatry, with all 
 mankind, and few there are who worship any other/ 
 
406 run MYSTiiiiiEs of st. clair; 
 
 ' " By this time \Ve had finished onr repast, and Bertha 
 Was seated at her distaff, winding some flax mechani- 
 cally, and apparently with thoughts far otherwise em- 
 ployed, around the wheel : and thinking that some ac- 
 knowledgment of thanks was due to her, for the hos*- 
 pitality she had manifested towards me, I expressed a 
 deep sense of my gratitude, for the favours she had 
 conferred on an utter stranger: and with some sur- 
 prise, perceived, that at each sentence I addressed to 
 her, she started, quitted her employment and became 
 suddenly agitated ; then renewed it again with listiesf 
 apathy j while she exclaimed, • ^' 
 
 "*I do not want thanks, which thou owes t to 
 heaven ! Providence caters for the birds of the air, the 
 fiishes of the ocean, the flowers of the forest — ^and will 
 it not be mindful of thee ? Be grateful in adoring its 
 bounteous blessings, and murmur not when it seemeth 
 to forsake thee. Youth, I would warn thee of the 
 dangerous tract thou art pursuing, did the time admit 
 of longer conference and more friendly counsel r^l 
 have an interest in thy fate, unknown to tliee the 
 cause 1 if thou wilt yet tarry in my bower, I will pro- 
 vide a couch for thy repose, and while thou sleepestj 
 i'^vill search into the planet that rules thy destiny^. 
 Dost thou consent, youth, to tarry with the witch of 
 the valley, for so call they me in Vienna.' 
 "' '; *0h, tarry, sir — by all means, tarry !* cried Juddi, 
 'consider the Black Forest; and the infernal den of 
 robbers who infest it.' 
 
 " To which I replied — 
 
 '' * I have certainly no intention of departing, when 
 the gates of hospitality are so kindly opened for my 
 
OR MARIETTB MOUhlNB. 407 
 
 reception, and feel as little inclination as you do, 
 Juddi, to have my throat cut by the robbers of the 
 Black Forest : 1 will therefore accept of the invitation 
 of this good lady, and will gladly tarry here till the 
 break of morning.* 
 
 ^ " * And thou art welcome, youth,' uttered Bertha, 
 fixing on me an eye which, like the eagle, seemed to 
 penetrate my inmost soul ; the expression of which had 
 an effect upon my feelings for which it was altogether 
 impossible to account : that as an utter stranger to my 
 name and circumstances, she should take so strong an 
 interest in my fate seemed so inexplicable, that I was 
 lost and bewildered in my conjectures whether this 
 strange and extraordinary woman was not really an 
 impostor, or one actually possessing superior intellect, 
 and perception of forthcoming events, by the sys- 
 tematical knowledge she had acquired in a practical 
 and unremitting study of the heavenly bodies, or par- 
 ticular planets under which persons were born. I was 
 aware, that from no other source, and that merely the 
 effect of study, could she ground her pretence of knovv- 
 ing the calamities which attend a state of suffering 
 mortality ; for I had too great a confidence in one only 
 Author of our eternal being, to blindly imagine that he 
 had invested authority in any, bearing the corruption of 
 mortal form about them, to tell the passing events of 
 this world's earthly space, only known to him alone, 
 and his holy angels. Still I thought this woman an 
 extraordinary earthly being, although only possessing 
 superior knowledge by earthly means ; and she echoed 
 the appellation I had bestowed upon her, of * Good 
 lady,' having seemingly offended her ; for fixing her 
 scowling eyes on me with an expression of some dis- 
 
mi 
 
 4(58 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 ^in, she uttered, at the same instant that an iiivoltia- 
 tery Bigh escaped from her heaving bosom,— i 
 
 KtiifiLady or not, thou shalt find, youth, tl>at I am a 
 woman, and no unworthy one, though unwortMty 
 treated ; but the deep injuries which have been in- 
 flicted on me have not yet steeled my heart against the 
 sufferings or the wants of my fellow- creatures when I 
 find them meriting my protection. Yes, the protection 
 of the witch, Bertha of the valley — for sudi have th^ 
 styled me in the court and city of Vienna^ — mt, tvho 
 have shone in circles far above the sphere in which the 
 malicious and mercenary reporters of my fame evei- 
 moved in. Yes, the highest splendour that adorns and 
 dignifi^ a throne was the lot of Bertha ! How I lost 
 these honours was owing to the perfidy, treachery, 
 and apostacy of one of your precious sex, who assum- 
 ing the form of \4rt«e, so oft betrays defenceless and 
 too fond, believing, and credulous woman. Yes, he it 
 was, who gathering a fresh and unstained lily from Ife 
 parent stem, exhaling all its sweetness and its charms, 
 then left it to droop and wither, and finally to perisfe, 
 amidst the desolating tempest which surrounded it. 
 Soch is man towards woman, when he has once made 
 feer the victim of his licentious and his lawless passion 5 
 and such a woman was I, oh youth ! to man's perfidious 
 arts. Wonder not, then, that you see the ^vild, strang«^ 
 and mysterious being here before you; or that I 
 am called a witch and a sorceress of these vales, be- 
 cause I lead a solitary life within these peacefu4 and 
 netired shades. It is better to live alone, than to live 
 despised, amidst a race of beings, who not knowing the 
 secret soinows of a bleeding heart, yet hold her out to 
 derision and 4o «com, nay, even U) iiif»my, Wfthoiit 
 
OR, MARTKTTE 7,i6VLrSE. 409 
 
 Irnowitjg wbethtt sW has ever beeti abandoned. On 
 the immediate and especial ordiGr of the myrmidons o^ 
 the Emperor Josephusj T was dragged forth from this 
 peaceful valley, and carried before the court of Vienna, 
 arrested under the charge of corropting: the people's 
 minds with sorcery and foul spells, in order to bewitch 
 them, and put them in fear of the evil $fpirit, with whbiii 
 it was supposed that I held l[?6mmunidn : but thiiik 
 you, youth, that I felt appalled, or stodd dismayed iri 
 the presence ef my basfe persecutors and criifel judged 
 or that I tamely submitted to become the weak instru'- 
 ment of their vengeance ? No^ had I done so, I should 
 have fallen^ without the power of redressing my 
 ^vroDgd^ but uplifted by the arm of an all-righteotiis 
 and heaveiily Judge, he who indeed is alone gifted with' 
 the power of knowing the f*t«, or fdt-eteiling the des-' 
 tiny of the creature* Whom h6 forrttied, aiid none else 
 can decide it: yes^ itifif)ired by the confidence I i^' 
 posed in him, I kiftWed tiipori his name, and bo'ldTl^ 
 attested that the crimes with which I Was charged were 
 false, and the accusation wholly unfounded y and grown 
 cnore bold by the constio'Osne^ of innocence,- 1 de- 
 manded the proof of my gniU in the presence of my 
 jndges^ fFor if I am a witch or a sorceress,' wttered 
 I^ ' and deal With evil spirits, they are with heavenly 
 bodies only, and not with terrestrial ones : for I converse 
 with the planets, daily^-of which having no know- 
 ledge yourselv^Sj you despise, aird attribute tp im- 
 proper causes. Shame on you, yegentlemen of Vienna !- 
 Shame on you, ye wise sages and judges of the court 
 and state of the monarch, whom ye pretend to rule and 
 to govern, when thus a weak, unfriended woman is able 
 to confute and to convict you in your blind argument/ 
 a 18 3 F ' 
 
410 THE MYSTERIKS OF ST. CLAIR', 
 
 and profound ignorance. If I am a witch, prove inC to 
 ibc one, and I will submit to the sentence of your \aws ; 
 but if you cannot advance the proof which ilm^w 
 ^loudly call for, in justice to myself, in shame rc^jc 
 from this public assembly of wise judges and legisla- 
 tors of your city, and dismiss a poor, simple, and de- 
 ^nceless woman, whom, from the words of; your own 
 mouths, and the very highest extent of your authority, 
 you cannot convict of the charges you have assigned 
 against her. I ask you for the proofs, gentlemen of 
 ; Vienna; you cannot produce them, or substantiate t^e 
 cause of your summoning me hither. Discbarge 
 me, therefore, like men, and like christians, and becom- 
 ing men in high authority, to render justice with im- 
 partial favour ; or refusing that to me, you will have 
 cause to repent cf your inhumanity 5 for I will appeal 
 to a higher order and power than yours, to redress my 
 wrongs — even to the high heavens! Dare you dis- 
 pute it ? Not one of you, there sitting, shall utter a 
 voice contrary to its unerring and divine administra- 
 ^ tion and judgment.' 
 
 *^ ' Astonishment, at what they deemed at first my 
 undaunted, affecting, and imposing address, for a 
 moment prevented any exercise of justice or humanity 
 towards me, for I had despised the authority of their 
 laws, and held in contempt their understandings. But 
 what of that ? 1 knew that they dared not detain me as 
 their prisoner, and that by the spirited defence 1 had 
 made, to confute the charges alleged against me, that 
 they were convinced of my not having merited the 
 accusation, and that I should be acquitted in spited 
 y every rancorous proceeding, that had been previously 
 contrived for my disgrace, and my punishment of 
 
.1 Oa, <yri^^^J^W^'^'^^ MOULINB^HHT ^ 411 
 
 • crimes which thej^ could not bring to light: and being 
 no proof, they could not inflict any punishment. All 
 this I knew, and waited patiently for the issue of my 
 trial, and the opinion of the judge appointed to sum up 
 the evidence, on which all eyes in the court were at- 
 tracted towards me, with more curiosity than any 
 commiseration or pity for my fate; and among the 
 numerous visitors then assembled to witness it, I blush 
 to own, were many females of high distinction and 
 fashionable notoriety, who, dressed in the gay plumage 
 that attends the appendages of rank and exalted 
 station, had come hither to witness the disgrace and 
 the punishment of one of their own sex, whose an- 
 guished sutFerings claimed the tear of pity, and not the 
 bitter and loud laugh of ironical contempt, at which I 
 gazed with merited scorn, preserving, throughout the 
 whole of this painful scene, that dignified composure 
 and contempt of injuries, which in former and in hap- 
 pier times 1 had possessed. 
 
 J " ' Whether this look had any influence on my judges, 
 1 know not, or whether they feared to go beyond the 
 bounds which their authority prescribed, and thus in- 
 cense the multitude, who were assembled there for the 
 purpose of seeing justice, and only justice, performed y 
 and that if improperly executed, they would, unbiassed 
 by party, hereafter judge for themselves, and hold their 
 administration in contempt. 
 
 i^^ '^ ' It was doubtlesss owing to this consideration, that 
 o| was permitted to be indulged with a fair and impartial 
 »che»rif)g5 and one of the judges, much the junior of his 
 viwise and polite brethren, with a countenance more 
 l«l)enevolent and placid, began to demand that I should 
 QQ asked certain questions, \Vhich should either con- 
 
4^^ THB v.x^T^B^Ef^,9Jgj^'5. ,clair; 
 
 \^ or ej^p^erat^^ ipe ftion? the c.hai:^e of \Y)iicl)^ I stood 
 aa'C^igO.qd ^t thpir bar, rec9mqiei;i,(J^;^ tjbiem, to the^.^ 
 most impartial judgment pf the case, a? t,p him, it ap^, 
 p^ared, that some priyate mali<?e had instigated the.^, 
 proceedings; and this, i^^^ting, with no dis^enting^f 
 vo^e, I was accordingly question ed^ aM<^ by himself 
 ^vholly, in the follo\vipg manner : — 
 
 ," ^ What is your namCj?' ^ 
 
 ;ij^' Bertha Mai-garitteS^.^9^^^: .^rti ^ 
 
 .^"yourcom?try;>'-^^ph^ff4a.: ,^ ,^,, , ,,^ n, ^ukiH^ 
 hV'Youj- quality and cir9i^;;^^|;^,ce^^,?' (i^i-t,^^^ j^-g^j^.^ 
 pteatejl be, with pequliaij ^rpp^^js^ . 
 
 - ^* To which I replied, without j thp. le^st^ hesitation^, . 
 *'rtiy quajjty isi that which it seemeth, hf^nibje, but not 
 deka^ed.; my circumstances hu^ibl(^ top, but yet suf^ 
 ficiient tp.s.i^ffice my wants, and confpijjt nj^^.' 
 
 'i' ' How came you to be po^sess^^.ofr the.m^an^ by 
 wl|ich.yoU;liye?' 
 
 **It became mine by inherit^ijpe, the ^ifpof 
 qi^y father. He^ had^ P9 child bvit me, and 1 mqst 
 nqeds bavq tjiat \vhjf;h, v^pu}d l?^^ Q;^i|^e(^^ by noi^e, 
 beside/ 
 
 •''You hay^ b^ea posseted of extraordinary 
 l^Qautyj extraordinary t^Jents top !* 
 
 " ^ Whicl^arp.both.tl^q gifts, of all-bountepus Hea- 
 yen,'* uttered^ I,^th i^preaj^et^. spirit, for L felt that 
 1 was gaining ground in the opipion of the pppulac^. 
 *;Ijs thcrq ajayjapjt tp be asciibedjo, th^ posses^qr, ^^^ 
 k^m^ o;: qf, taj^r^t, ?.: cpnitij^ue^ I. ], ; 
 
 y'Nf>^,* apOTi^^ ^ >; * the>f 851:6 admirable, wheiij 
 th^y are npt aj^i^^^^, ai^t^ cpny^^Jied^tp improner use5. 
 i;j:^en, inijfe^d qf l^lessings, they, flrpve, ») ^ sy.^J^^ to^., 
 tl>p§c who \Yerc ignoiant. of their value/ 
 
OR_, MARIETTE MOULINE. 4t3* 
 
 *' ' If you apply this to me, 1 deny the accusatlou/' 
 cried I, * for 1 have done neither/ ; ' 
 
 " * Why then have you acquired the term vi^hich iw 
 applied to you, namely, the appellation of a witch !• " 
 Justify that, and we shall acquit you/ . ; ' 
 
 ^^^ * J \vill tell you, so please you, sir,* uttered I|i^ 
 in a firm, undaunted tone, * I will tell you all the 
 witch ings I have been guilty of in the whole course of 
 ray incantations and spells, and commerce with evil 
 spLcits to delude and betray the unwary traveller to 
 cross the threshold of my door, and invite him to a 
 place by my fire-side, when the tempest beats howling 
 o-«D 1m32 unsheltered head> and the lightning darts 
 its ful^ andj strikes the oak of the forest low ! 
 Then, sic^ it is my delight to contemplate the wide 
 l^iesty of the expanse of oceaa^ and to behold the 
 woiwjrous' works of a wonderful Deity prewding and 
 i-ttling' Qver the- whole with superior and resistless 
 forcei fh^re, by the wild sea-bank do Ii sit and watch 
 the* setting 06 the glpdoua orb that lights the whole 
 oueatiQPy and> as the last beam, of its golden rays 
 y^ tinge tjie blue firmament of the vaulted heavens 
 with, the deep red' that crimsc^is the face of the sha- 
 dowy* landiscape with' ^ roseate tblush^ and which, at 
 the return of morning again renews- its smiling ver- 
 dure, and makes all nature blithe and gladsome, and 
 every living creature acknowledge it* pre-eminence,— 
 then. do I* bless the hand that formed this all-glorious 
 planet that lights the world, whose wonders I explore 
 and study daily-r^and, if this be witchery, why call 
 it so. Also do 1 love the lunar ray^ which, when it^ 
 silently steals behind the envious cloud, I mark with 
 wonder and delight, too great, too joyous, for utter- 
 
41'1 THIi MYSTERIBS OK ST. CIA III; 
 
 aiicc 'j and then each bright and twinkling star spark- 
 ling all the sky, in curious rotation, I view agaiR 
 with joy, and hail with raptures. Then, I hie metp 
 the loftiest mountain, and count them thrice and thrice 
 and study their formation,^ and their names, and by 
 books do learn to know the influence that each parti?i 
 cular star has on the surface of the earth, and how the 
 planets rule and reign alternately, when the seasons of 
 the year do take their diurnal course ; and I love the 
 summer breath of morn, and the dew of opening 
 flowers, and watch the blossom and the fruit revived 
 agmnj and when autumn comes, and falling leaves 
 do strew the forest, and the lightning and the 
 thunder do shake the little piece of earth, that man 
 doth think was made for him alone to govern, then 
 dp I smile at the vain boasting fool, that knows not 
 but the coming morrow may put an end to all his pro*?; 
 mised hopes of worldly pomp and grandeur; and the 
 sun that arose in the morning, beams to light him to 
 his happiness, shed its departing rays on the grave 
 that holds his sad remains ! If this be witchery, I do 
 delight to dwell upon it, and if these be all my offences, 
 they are none to heaven nor man, whom I hold in hate, 
 •yet would not injure him so deeply, as he hath injured 
 ra§ ;'had I riches, I would share them vnih the wois 
 thy; and I have learned in solitude and silence to 
 bury my griefs, andth at the only remedy for wrongs 
 ^eeived, is ta forgive them, as I do, in the face of; 
 heaven and my accusers here ? ' ; . f 
 
 . .f ' ' Acquit her I acquit her I she is innocent !' utter^: 
 a thousand voices at once. 
 
 -acj'^ity^^ ^^^^ accused this woman falsely, and we 
 insist on having her restored tohberty!' vociferated 
 
OR, MARIBTTB MOULINE. 415 
 
 another part of the enraged and surrounding populace. 
 * Shame to the court of Vienna !' cried another. ■ i^ 
 
 *^' Youth, my triumph over my rancorous and mali- 
 cious foes was now complete. ^Bertha Margaritte St. 
 Omer, you are now free,' uttered the judge, by whom 
 I had undergone so exact and close an examination^ 
 whose countenance I perceived betrayed marks of in- 
 ward satisfaction, though he did not openly express 
 his sentiments on the occasion : but there was a look 
 ivhich, as he signed my acquittal of the foul chargies 
 preferred against me, I was at no loss to define, for it 
 plainly said — I rejoice in the triumph you have gained 
 over your enemies. I then quitted the court amidst 
 the rejoicings and the congratulations of the surround- 
 ing multitude ; some of whom invited me to their 
 houses to partake of some refreshment after the fatigue 
 of this important, and to me distressing day; but, 
 civilly declining their proffered kindness, I returned 
 to these peaceful shades again, with a^heart overflow- 
 ing wiih the tide of gratitude and adoration to that 
 merciful and beneficent Being, who, whether sleeping 
 or waking, always watches over those faithful votaries 
 who ultimately rely on his protection. 
 
 " ' This is the history of the witch in the valley, 
 youth, except that part that does not materially concern 
 or is not connected with your's, which I know, and 
 therefore warn you of the destiny which awaits you on 
 your arrival at the castle of St. Clair, in which you 
 will encounter much difficulty if you do not attend to 
 niy advice : with all the mysteries of St. Clair I am 
 fully acquainted, and were you to know them as well 
 as I, do, you would shun the protection you are about 
 to solicit from the Lord Albino, instead of being a pe- 
 
4!H3 THE MTSTERIEStlOlfe^SltP^ 4?r|i|Ul ; 
 
 titidner for his ; favours-^not that I 'WoukJ insitiutfH ?^ 
 that the noble lord himself would deny you the ji**^d 
 due to merit, but there are others in possession of those . 
 privileges, and rights which he alone pught1»4sbM«i 
 I mean the Cardinal Ben volio, youth. Who has ft'^^j, 
 heard of the saintly character of the pioiis pviest^ and 
 that he is in high authority in the castle of St/ Glaii' ? 
 Howa-s lately 'invested with J;he: right and pfrivikg:es 
 of a cardinal, by the powerful interest of the Lot«4>7) 
 Albino, who obtained this exalted dignity for hinYf 
 through the influence he possessed over the mind Of 
 the: Emperor Josephus. So men come to great places 
 and high preferments, with little claims theinselveel to 
 merit the honours which are bestowcdupon them; It 
 was ever so from the beginning of the woi4d, and vvitl 
 coiwibue so to the world's ciid. But the rough brak^ 
 that virtue must go through, is adversity, S(i1to\^, 
 SuflSaringi, and forbearance. It is the ordeal, whieli 
 lik« the grjlden o*e m^ttst W tri^ W^fep many Jial^-^k- 
 ^iiJmiaDts before its intrinsic value caw be esttniMe^^|g 
 w^h\& the base and counterfeit, polisli^d and glitlering^,^ 
 6tttWafd oi-^ament arid show, passes without any test 
 of'^ita virtue at all^ because its high polish deceivi^^,^ 
 fcl^^'^^ ifr never suspected. Such are the virtue^ of the 
 Cavdiiitti Berivolio ! Beware of him, youth, for^sheuldst 
 thmi tin4 favottf attd protection with the fttfiiity of Al^ 
 b^tto^ he will coufiteract the influeii(*e you obtain, att^*^ 
 if it be poffsiMo, effect your rUin, and accomplish yotrt*^,; 
 (iifegr&ee. Like the serpent of old, he seeks the de^,. 
 sitruetio^fi aJways* of the mbst iniioeent tfrid tmsuspe^i^ 
 lr^g^;< and envieiS the hai>piness of anothei^, beeause liii^ 
 ^Vil eoirtci«tteeK?ill ndb plermit h!tti to erijoj' rteajl. 
 htt'jDirtrjesi^ hiiwsMf. Yoot*^; t6 tl*e Ce^ttlihal' Bc?htt^W 
 
OR, MARIKTTK MOUUNB. 417 
 
 you owe the misfortunes, nay, the untimely death^ii 
 of your young and lovely sister Adelaide Au-n 
 bigny/ 
 
 " * Adelaide Aubigny,* uttered I, with a sensation 
 of agony and horror not to be described, ' and did you 
 indeed know the cause of the premature death of my' 
 angel sister; if so, in pity tell me how she died. It 
 was reported to me by the professor Paulini, of the 
 college of St. Ambrose, that her sudden demise was 
 occasioned by her having caught a contagious fever, 
 which, baffling the effects of medicine, very speedily 
 terminated her existence 1 and was it not true ? Per-* 
 fidious monsters ! presumed they to deceive a fond, 
 a doating brother 1* 
 
 ' " * The intelligence you received was false,* uttered 
 Bertha, * she died of no contagious fever, or ever had • 
 any, but the contagion she caught of the cruelty that'^ 
 was inflicted on her tender heart in that cursed con 
 vent of Mariette Mouline.* Then followed, in succes- 
 sion, from the lips of Bertha, the whole detail of the 
 misfortunes that befel my dear unhappy sister. Her 
 secret marriage with the Lord Delfrida, her being 
 forced into the conventual vows, and the manner in . 
 which she had broken them, the birth of her child, 
 the oath that had been extorted from her so unwil- 
 lingly, the subsequent repentance and compunction 
 which had attended it, and the kind protection 
 of her infant from the humane compassion of the 
 sister Agues for her misfortunes : at the recital of 
 which 1 was nearly frantic with rage, and vowed eter- 
 nal hatred to the perfidious and crafty priest, of whom, 
 cardinal or no cardinal, I determined to seek reyenge, 
 
 b\S 3g 
 
ifS THB MYSTERIES OF 8T. CLAlR*, 
 
 for being accessary to the destruction of the peace ackd 
 the happiness of my beloved sister. ' ic>^y;rtf> 
 
 " * And where is the offspring of the ill-fated A(dte^ 
 laide,' exclaimed I, ' where is the pledge of love of 
 my poor unhappy sister: deserted, oh! qq, I ,^m¥ 
 not doubt of the humanity of her kind pirotecti'ess 5 
 yet she had not the means of providing for her, thou 
 sayest. Bertha ; then what is become of the child of 
 my Adelaide?' tyx 
 
 ** To which Bertha energetically and feelingly pro- 
 nounced, ' That is a secret which I am not permitted 
 to unfold. I have sworn to Heaven, and I must keep 
 my oath, never to tell where tiie child of Adelaide is 
 concealed.* 
 
 *^ * And why was tWs cruel prohibition made. Ber- 
 tha?* uttered I,* and why this cruel oath, when it 
 was probable that I might one day be informed of tlc^ 
 circumstances of my sister's death ?' 
 
 " * That cannot I tell,* answered she, ' but it was 
 probably to secure her from the power of that base, 
 crafty priest, Benvolio, that the sister Agnes was so 
 anxious to conceal the infant from all mortal eye, save 
 mine alone. I have seen her ! she is the lovely image 
 of her mother; now, youth, question me no further 
 respecting the child. I have already gone beyond 
 the limits of the sacred oath, under which I am 
 boun'd/ 
 
 *' 'God of my fathers! am I not her uncle ?' uttered 
 1, in the wildest and most ungovernable rage of frantic 
 })assion, * Is she not my niece, and have I not a 
 right to claim the only kindred tie I have now in ex- 
 istence? Think yon that the sister Agnes can be 
 
419 
 
 m6^e watchful over this precious relic of affection 
 than I should be, who am related to her by blood } 
 Gniel Bertha, you can, you ought to tell me where 
 the child is concealed: feel for a brother*s anguish I 
 tell me where I may behold the child of Adelaide ; 
 let me but once infold her in these arms, and I will 
 fall down and worship thee !* ' 
 
 ^* 'Frantic youth, calm these immoderate bursts of 
 wild romantic passion,' uttered Bertha, now enraged 
 in her turn. 'Thinkest thou, that for thee or any 
 other mortal I would forfeit my vow to Heaven ? 1 
 have said that I cannot tell thee more, and more thou 
 must not require of Bertha; the child is safe ; and 
 will, if she survives, lead a life of virtue and of peace. 
 Her" beauty, like a young rosebud, promises fair 
 to be one day ripened into perfection. Let no can- 
 ker worm thus early destroy the charii) ! Wtrt Jnou 
 to tell her the misfortunes that attended her mother, 
 or but slightly glance at the fatality of her birth> peace 
 never more would be the inmate of her gentle and 
 innocent breast, for she has all the sensibility of her 
 unfortunate mother, who so dearly suffered for lu^r 
 sake, and with strong intellect she would ponder o'er 
 the mysteries of her birth, and thus become habi- 
 tuated to perpetual gloom and melancholy ! Crop 
 not then the sweetness of this smiling and inno- 
 cent flower in its early bloom. There is a time and 
 a season for all earthly changes that attend the 
 sufferings of frail mortality, and this Change' will 
 take place in thee and the offspring of the sainted 
 Adelaide. Wait then the appointed hour that Heaven 
 shall think fit to elucidate all further mysteries. 
 
[Sfc|^ „E MYSTBHIBS OF ST. CLMR; 
 
 and strive not to oppose the will of Providence, 
 whose ways, though dark and hidden from us 
 £ and er;ing creatures, are always in the end- 
 
 ,f'::"-yi in war? '^^■■ 
 
 .alcisfa^b aitli^^h^si 6a#;iifri«; 
 
 =W' 
 
 
 iti tmii&o ifi^gn al tA ^ 
 
 
 
 n^^ 
 
 mbisdm 
 
 
 
 
 / 3i 8fl i^QiegoTJ orfw 
 
'^^' 9113.; c- 
 
 CHAPTER XVIJL 
 
 ** He stood confused : 
 He had not seen her since at court, 
 Glittering in beauty and in innocence, 
 A radiant vision ! In her joy, she moved, 
 More like a poet's dreara, in form divine- 
 So lovely was the presence ! — than a thing 
 Of earth, and perishable elements. 
 Now, had he seen her in her winding sheet. 
 Less painful would that spectacle have proved — 
 For peace is with the dead : 
 
 But this alter'd face, bearing its deadly sorrow cbaracter'd. 
 Came like a ghost, which in the grave 
 Could find no rest." 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 ^^At length calmer moments succeeded to those 
 strong emotions of the mind which, like the raging and 
 turbulent ocean, knows no cessation till the storm has 
 subsided ; and while Bertha viewed me with an eye 
 of pitying and tender sympathy, she besought me to re- 
 tire to the chamber which she had provided for my re- 
 ception, and to place confidence in that eternal Being, 
 who crossing, as it were, our most favourite projects. 
 
422 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 hopes, and worldly expectations^ still ordereth, in its 
 wise dispensations, all things for the best, though we 
 are not wise enough to think them so ; but I very 
 gladly took Bertha's advice, telling her, that I was 
 much benefited by the counsel she had given me, and 
 that I would patiently wait for that appointed hour, to 
 reveal all mysteries in the castle of St. Clair, and es- 
 pecially those which appertained to my beloved sister, 
 and the innocent offspring of her ill-fated love and 
 marriage with the Lord Delfrida, towards whom, I 
 confess, Ferdinand, that I felt, in spite of his exalted 
 rank and superior consideration of fortune, a sort of 
 perhaps ill-grounded antipathy, owing probably to 
 the misfortunes which he had entailed by this clandes- 
 tine marriage with my unhappy and ill-fated sister, who- 
 but for him, had still been the ornament of the sociecy,?! 
 which her youth^ innocence, and beauty adorned, and?:^ 
 the blessing and the pride of a fond brother's heart : 
 and I looked upon the Lord Delfrida, as in part, the 
 destroyer of Adelaide Aubigny ! 
 
 *' Perhaps this sentiment was unjust, and even unna 
 tural, at the time that I so warmly expressed it : but 
 recollect, Ferdinand, that I was debarred^.as a near 
 and kindred relative in the ties of blood, from seeing , 
 the child of my sister ; although I was her uncle, I.>^ 
 was considered unworthy of being trusted with the »? 
 place of her concealment !— and goaded by this reflec- 
 tion, you cannot wonder, that I lamented the hour that 
 she yielded her hand and her heart, and her beauteous 
 person to that man, who, ho wever exalted by rank, and 
 the superior advantages of the splendid gifts of for- 
 tune, had, by the concealment of his marriage with my 
 beauteous sister^ exposed her to the censure of the 
 
Oa, MARIBTIB MODLINB. -^*» 423 
 
 whole world \ A clandestine marriage ! the worst of all 
 human curses ! .my heart abhorred the thought — and 
 I reproached the unknown Delfrida with the subse- 
 quent cause of all the unhappy misfortunes which had 
 attended my sister, in the convent of Mariette Moulinl^i' 
 I accused him as the author of miseries she had never 
 known, but for him t and had I encountered with him 
 at this period of my distraction and my frenzied grlei^ . 
 our meeting had certainly been fatal : to which, the 
 concealed birth of my niece added no little to the deep 
 anguish and mortification of my feelings. Yet, after 
 passing a night in the abode of Bertha, and reflecting 
 on the nature of the oath she had so sacredly sworn 
 to the sister Agnes, never to reveal where the child of 
 Adelaide was concealed, I of course could not expect 
 that she would forfeit it, and therefore reconciled my- 
 self to what! looked upon an irremediable evil, StUi 
 resolved, however, that I would venture on the pro* 
 tection of the Lord Albino, and endeavour to obtain « 
 situation as preceptor to his son ; thus resolved, I 
 bade adieu to the lovely and hospitable dwelling of the 
 kind Bertha at the break of morning, who again can* 
 tioning me to beware of the Cardinal Benvolio and 
 his deceptive arts, I set forward once more on my 
 journey, accompanied by my faithful guide, Juddi, 
 who demanding to know how 1 liked the witch of the 
 valley, I replied— 
 
 •^ ' She merits not so opprobriou« a term, not but I 
 own, that she hath some witchery abont her, that 
 would beguile a man of some weary hours, passed 
 in her company, most pleasantly; she had been 
 beautiful in the summer of her days, think you not, 
 Juddi ?' 
 
424 THB MYSTC&IBS OF ST, CLAIR; 
 
 " ' As an angel/ uttered he : ' but, ah ! sir, what is 
 beauty?* 
 
 " ' It is something when united with the rare accom- 
 plishment of a superior mind, modest deportment, and 
 an engaging disposition,' answered 1 ; * all which Ber- 
 tha seems to possess/ 
 
 " * We were now on the brow of a stupendous moun- 
 tain, from which I discerned the stately and majestic 
 towers of the Castle of St. Clair; and my guide in^'^ 
 stantly pointing it out to my observation, exclaimed— 
 
 " ' By St. Peter ! there's none of your wax-work 
 there, sir ! It has stood many a bit of steel, and many a 
 barrel of gunpowder — yon old sturdy, frowning bat- 
 tlements 1 — and I have a notion that it will stand a 
 good many more before we find it sounding a retreat.' 
 
 " *Itis indeed a most beautifur^nd magnificent 
 edifice,* uttered I, gazing with an admiration and 
 wonder not to be expressed, as we approached tiearer 
 and nearer to the illustrious mansion of the Lord Al- 
 bino ; beautiful were the towers that looked toward tlie 
 western sky ; blue and ethereal bright, from the high 
 vaulted roof of Heaven, they overlooked the bosom of 
 the ocean, and the golden rays of the setting sun were 
 reflecting their last beams upon it. A gondolier was 
 taking its silent course to the harbour; and in it was 
 only a Bohemian boy, who having trimmed his sails, 
 was now resting on his oar, vvarbling a merry carol, and 
 cheered with the hope that at night he should sleep in 
 the peaceful, happy house of his father, and partake of 
 the comfortable meal which a mother's fond care was 
 preparing on his safe landing to his native shore. 
 
 ** There was not a breeze that ruffled the silver wave, 
 on which the little vessel homeward steered its course, 
 
* lyy^lJW A|I STIK MflUtlNE. ni . 425 
 
 and nearer and nearer as it approached the long wished- 
 for harbour, the Bohemian sailor-boy added a quicker 
 and merrier burthen to his song. * The condition of 
 that simple boy is truly enviable,' cried I. ' He hath 
 no cares to disturb his peaceful, happy slumber; and 
 when the tempest is howling, and the wind whistles o'er 
 his head, sleeps he peaceful still; his only thought to 
 see his once loved home again, in sweet content and 
 smiling happiness ; and though rough and perilous 
 has been his voyage on the stormy seas, safe landed 
 on his native shore, he is hugged in the fond embrace 
 of a dear mother, welcomed by a Jvind father, hailed 
 by lovely sisters, and a group of village friends : then 
 beats his heart with thrilling rapture ! No more he feels 
 the dashing wave which so late washed over him as it 
 would threaten his destruction. He looks around, 
 bfeholds the cpttage where he drew his first breath, and 
 * Welcome home,' seems on every lip, in every eye, and 
 all is earthly paradise/ jaeiaij^* 
 
 " By the time that 1 had finished these remarks, the 
 little vessel scudding under pleasant and easy sail, had 
 nearly reached the harbour; the boy ceased his njerry 
 song, with alacrity seized the oars, and plying them 
 with all his strength, soon gained the haven of all bis 
 happiness ; and we saw no more of him and the gon7 
 doUjer. • : , Mtok sz: : : h> 
 
 "In the mean while we arrived witbin a quarter of a 
 mile of the Castle of St. Clair, andjit the foot of the 
 mountain halted for refreshment at a small co/if^, the 
 appearance of which was^both sinQj)leandueat.: at the 
 entrance stood a pretty looking young woman, with a 
 fine; infant in her arms, on which she was bestowing 
 tlie fondest caresses. 
 
 a 19 , 3 H 
 
THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 -b:^fl^i|y would lay a wager that is the mother of the 
 child/ cried Juddi. oiii. UA;.i,dj/i(hi ud. .iij'Hliiid ■.<■. 
 
 " * Doubtless, Juddii' the look of ri&t«i»e is doquisnt;, 
 and cannot easily be mistaken : it speaks all lan- 
 guages^ journeys to all climes, however distantvaoiiv 
 tary, dr remote. No circumstance or situation dan 
 alter its complexion : we breathe it in the first moirient^ 
 of our birth, and it remains with us to the latest 
 moment of our existence; ^ It: is the haa^biager fof 
 earthly happiness, and its home is heaven. It reposes 
 on the bosom of love, and goes hand in hand with 
 virtue, innocence and peace! 
 
 " Whoever has travelled the several provinces on 
 the confines of Germany, Austria, and Bohemia, 
 must have observed that urbanity of manners and 
 civility to strangers (especially those of England) arc 
 the distinguishing features of this simple and rusti- 
 cated race of unoffending beings. May we add, that 
 there is a striking contrast, which it is impossible not 
 to form, between the natiVbsof t^te^ei provinces and 
 those of the land said to be tlie land of liberty, and 
 flowing with milk and hojiey : hut for whom does it 
 flow ? who tastes of the nfecta^^d swieets ? who sips of 
 the luscious banquet, and revels in the hall of plenty/? 
 Is it the children of poverty ? do the unfriended and 
 the unfortunate sons and daughters of genius sip of 
 the flowing bowl, or partake of the festal board ? or 
 are they invited to partake of it by the courtly great 
 ones ? No ! for them is not reserved this badge of 
 honour. But whom do they single out for the com- 
 ^aiiiohs of their nightly revels, and the s^harers of 
 their dissipated pleasures ? Why, the question is easily 
 resolved, since it is often among the most profligate and 
 
, .1 lQ«i M ARISTTB MOULINB- 1 n . 42? 
 
 tfee most imwoi'thy> that their companions and their 
 associates are to be founds while the meritorious and 
 the truly virtuous are suffered to pine in want and in 
 wretchedness, in some miserable garret, then drop 
 mto the grave unpitied and unknown. 
 o/, " But, to leave digression, so universally felt and 
 acknowledged, hourly and daily, in this land of milk 
 and honey — suffice it to say, that my guide and I 
 entered this neat looking cqfee, with a disposition to 
 partake of the comforts and accommodations which it 
 afforded ; for it was at this village that I, was to part 
 ^ith Juddi, having, before we sat out from Vienna, 
 deposited in his hands the sum he demanded for con- 
 ducting me across the steepy and almost inaccessible 
 mountains, by which the Castle of St. Clair was sur- 
 rounded, and which rendered it so difficult of access 
 to travellers, and those unacquainted with its imper- 
 vious windings, and its intricate mazes." 
 
 " The observations of Juddi had been perfectly cor- 
 rect; it was certainly the mother of the smiling babe, 
 whom we saw caressing it at the door, and when we 
 alighted and entered the cafee, she received us with 
 every mark of respect and civility, recommending us .to 
 the best viands and liquors that her house could affoixi. 
 Although to the guide she prcsei-ved one mode of beha- 
 viour, and to me another, yet I was well pleased with 
 Juddi, for having introduced me to the witch of the 
 valley, from whom 1 haxl leai*rred the most important 
 secret of my whole life, and received so much benefit 
 from her friendly counsel and advice, that! determined 
 that the short time w/e remained together in the c^fee, 
 to treat him kindly, and give him the most convincing 
 
iS^ I'HB MVSTBAIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 proofs of my liberality, for the service and justice he 
 had rendered me in my journey to Bohemia. - )iino^ ;rj 
 
 ' "After we had partaken of a most excellent dish of 
 ltl()!6r-fowl5 (in which this country particularly abound- 
 ed,) I took my leave of Juddi, who expressed great 
 itoxiety for my welfare, informing me where he was to 
 be found, if ever I should chance to require his ser- 
 vices again. 
 
 '^ * A poor and humble, but happy cottage, calls me 
 iliafetief> sir,' cried he, *but Providence never deserts 
 & pool' man, who is willing to strive to gain an honest 
 living, for the support of the tender babes that look up 
 to him for the protection of a father.' 
 
 ' '^* ' Certainly not, friend Juddi,' crip.d I ; *but every 
 father is not so provident for a numerous progeny, 
 which he often leaves to the wide and merciless world, 
 to provide for themselves.' 
 
 " On these words Juddi took his leave of me, at the 
 door of the cafee, taking charge of the mules I had 
 hired from Vienna; and after the departure of Juddi, 
 as I held engaged a bed at the cafe'e, not thinking it 
 proper to visit the' Castle of St. Clair at so late an hour 
 in the evening, I strolled into the public room, where 
 all the news of the day is canvassed over by the inha- 
 bitants, and the different tradesmen and shopkeepers 
 assemble, after the fatigues and the cares of business 
 are over ; and taking a seat amongst them, while they 
 were regaling themselves with their sherbet and their 
 segars, I entered into conversation with several of them 
 on the affairs of the state, and the management of af- 
 fairs under the reign of the Emperor Josephus. 
 i Some of them expressed great dissatisfaction at the 
 
: ' t>Il, MARIETIB MOULINE. 429 
 
 conduct of the ministers, while the name of the brave 
 St. Julian echoed through the vaulted roofs with thun- 
 diers of applause ; while others contended that he was 
 too daring and enterprising, and having obtained such 
 unbounded success over the allied party, that he as- 
 sumed too many privileges over the nation, and was 
 likely to overthrow the whole iQigi^(yr^E^p|ij|^.|>y the 
 influence he possessed. )?:; • j }- -i L •(» - -' ,m t 
 t "To which, a grave old man, who sat apart in a re- 
 mote corner of the room, not seeming to notice the 
 disputes which had arisen, but v;ho now seemed roused 
 to energy, by the severe animadversions they had 
 passed on the conduct of the brave St. Julian, loudly 
 vociferated— ; )ri ^i, 
 
 " ' It is false, young men, wjiat; ypu have now as- 
 sorted against one of the bravfcst young warriors that 
 ever yet shone in bright and shining arms. St. Julian 
 has been the saviour of this country, which had been 
 a pile of mouldering ruins, but for his undaunted 
 bravery ana his ^u rage. Who defeated the Austrian 
 forces and their allies ? tell me that 1 Who sent the 
 Spaniards sneaking away ? who saved the land from 
 famine and dismay ? — and the etnperor thrice acknow- 
 ledged his gratitude to St. Julian in the public news 
 of the day 5 and if he had not rendered him this pub- 
 lic service, would he so publicly have thanked him, 
 even, in the face of his enemies ? canst answer me 
 that, you silly goats? because, if thou canst not, it 
 were better thou kept silence, than utter folly, and 
 what is worse than folly, untruth. Smoke your 
 segars, smoke your segars, young men of Bohemia ! 
 it is better than talking of politics, which you know 
 
 Dothing- about/ :. ;, . ;:,,^ . ■ . ,.,, , _,^jj^ , ^^^^^^^ 
 
^^ THB'MVBTBRIBS OF ST. CI>AIR ; 
 
 •'^«« A-^u^ feiwued bf sotne length afteit this Qva^jp^ 
 deRveted by the bid man, whom all regarded with some 
 defeffehd6efn^«iwd^ though they differed from hin^ i^ 
 rij^iiiiiiij ftttid' he W*s suffered to depart from the caf^e 
 ■#5thdut<^e bf them presuming to contradict the asr 
 ^rtibii h^'ftiild made respecting the valour of the brav^ 
 Bbh^'riiidti fcc^i&qHei-oiui ohibrr -jrfi vroTdti i:h[ 
 
 " I then retired to rest; and hfter passing the nigjif 
 lb cbntemplalting my present prospects, (which, indeed, 
 *"wiere riot of the inost pleasing nature, as J looked upon 
 myself to fee nearly an isolated being, with no kindred 
 tie that bound me to existence, save those only whonp 
 i'jrias not permitted to claim any relationship with); f 
 rose at an early hour the ensuing morning,, aedjijariijf 
 attired myself m the most respectable manner^, I in- 
 quired the best path that would , conduct jpjil9,|b# 
 Castle of St. Clair ? ^^niila ban ii{-siyu\ m onoth ^oj^ foVo 
 ^^'' Which you cannot enter without a passport froi^i 
 t'he^cardinal,' said the host. ^ s j 
 
 "Confounded and astonished by this unexpectec^ ipf 
 telligencej I demanded to know by What means I sho^ilql 
 obtain it ; and was answered, that I must apply itptlie 
 officer of the guard, at the entrance of the battlemej^ts-, 
 who forward<jd all business of this nature to the car- 
 dinal ; and having obtained this information of;a>yihQst 
 who was an intelligent man, he offered his services \o 
 accompany me to th6 guards bouse, which I very 
 gladly accepted ; and we accordingly s^t out fqr.the 
 C^'stie of St. Clair. As we approached the guard-lvoufi^? 
 we very distinctly 'Ttea'rd«ottnds of reveh*y and mirth, 
 which my host inforttt^d mt were from the spldier^, 
 who' hkvfng i-ieturn6d Wbtti ^he^'iuightly duty^ had; as- 
 sembled together for the purpose of colobEating itfete 
 
OR^ MARIEITE MOULIKE. ' i^ 431 
 
 natal day of the young Lord Fern aadoj who had at- 
 tained his sixteenth year/ and they were now rejoicing 
 and taking a merry glass in consequence of it, by the; 
 express command of the Lord Albino himself. On 
 bur nearer approach, bursts 6f feilghter. prev^ailedy 
 which wa^s followed by a Bohemian air^ sung by one 
 of the officers, which was adapted to the foilowifig 
 words:— ''i'[^^'^ :ib^u5 offiol 
 
 *'0h! where^ 18 thy spint of yore^ » t ' i ." . . 
 
 The spirit that breath'd in thy dead," ' "-^^ ^nil^frjiiniif 
 
 When gallantry's star was the beacon before>Oaidf A b'loj 
 
 And honour the passion that led ? . • yriiJgob Vfll lol 
 
 Thy storms have awakened their slee]pj,j^f ^^,^^^ ^tliuiof 
 
 They groan from the place of their rest; . i« * r 
 
 And wrathfuUy murmur, and sullenlyweep7 '^^^'^^ "'^'^'i 
 
 To see the foul stain on thy breast. ' '^'^^> t obfljsn'io'ij 
 
 For where is the glory they left thee iatrosti^lj/;. iij; l^Ii/filt 
 
 'Tis scattered in darkness, 'tis tia^j^,ii} df^\ J)g7,\,f4) 
 
 The savage, all wild in his glen, y :.*: ,4,,,-,-,.^ ., j f 
 
 Is nobler and better than thou ; . I V : 
 
 Thou staudest a wonder, a marvel to roeii^' 
 
 Such perfidy blackens thy brow. I'A h^jfi^iauiu'wCj 
 
 If thou wertt^eplaceof nly bir^]^,,/i(J ^j,[j j-;;^^ ] ir,i]i 
 
 At oucefrom thy arm^.wouldl seY^pj^T^ I » :. ,,„,.M^ A 
 
 I'd fly to the uttermost ends of the earUi, 
 
 And quit thee for ever and ever : 
 
 And thinking of thee, in my long «ft6r years, 
 
 Wonld but kindle my blushes, and waken my tears. 
 
 Oh ! shame to thee, land of the Gaul ! 
 
 Oh ! shame to thy children and thee ! 
 
 Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall. 
 
 How wretched thy portion shall be,' '"•^' - ^ Ji vr / j^i-.i ; > i 
 
 Division shall strike thee forlorn V'l] Off r hoT;/', ;: ; .;, 
 
 k mockery that never shall die ; 
 
 The curses of hate, and the hisses of ^qorn^ . . 
 
 Shall burden the winds of thy skyf';"'"^^'^ f''\ jr^l ,iop 
 
 And proud, o'er thy ruin f6r ever b'^ ^uiteil ^'- ' ' ' ' 
 
 The laughter bn«te»j4, ttw Infers of the world." 
 
432 THE M YS:t KB IKS O F ST. CLAIR; 
 
 '^ No sooner was the song ended, ^nd thjc sounds ol; 
 reVtelry ceased, than mine host and I made pur ap- 
 pearance at the entrance of the guard-house, and on 
 making proper application to the officer on duty, were 
 ioamediately admitted; in short,. there did not appear 
 to be the slightest impediment to my obtaining the 
 wished-for passport, for it was immediately presented 
 to the Cardinal Benvolio, and signed by him, for my 
 immediate admission to the Castle of St. Clair, on my 
 S^^intimating that I had sonde private business with the 
 Lord Albino. It; was ^ lucky minute, as I thought, 
 for my destiny; a day of hilarity, feasting, and re- 
 joicing, when less precision and order was preserved 
 than other days— the birth- day of the young Lord 
 Fernando ; and owing to this circumstance I had cer- 
 tainly an advantage which I should. not otherwise have 
 derived, had I made my application at a less favour- 
 able opportunity. I had concealed my real name, as 
 well as my real business, from the knowledge of the 
 Cardinal, well knowing that ;f he had been apprised 
 that I was the brother of the unfortunate Adelaide 
 Aubigny, that I should be debarred all further access 
 to the family of the great Albino, and thus be deprived 
 of promoting my interest in life. 
 
 " As both my good-natured host and I had made our 
 appearance together, we were both invited to partake 
 of the good cheer that was going forward in the guard- 
 room, where I staid till the officer of the guard returned, 
 and delivered me the passport, which he accordingly 
 did; and, in a few minutes, the honest Bernado 
 quitted me, vi^ishing mc every success in my under- 
 takings in the Castle of St. Clair.. V . ' 
 
 ' While I remained in the guard-room, I had- several 
 
OR, \fARMiTTE MOULINE, """ 433 
 
 opportunities of hearing the different opinions ^ and 
 sentiments of the soldiery respecting the wars, «ndtlae 
 management of the Emperor Josephus in the com- 
 mand of his dominions ; some of whom complained of 
 him, most bitterly ; while others extolled the brave St. 
 Julian to the very skies, declaring that shortly there 
 would be a violent contest with the opposed allies ; 
 that the greatest hostility would eventually prevail 
 against those who waged war with the young and 
 mighty conqueror; to all which I preserved the most 
 profound silence, not thinking it prudent, whatever I 
 thought, to express my opinion of the matters of the 
 state, when times were so perilous. 
 
 '^ Still I took care not to oiSend any one, either by 
 looks or by words ; and although the ofl&cer of the 
 guard had by various means endeavoured to draw forth 
 my private sentiments on the subject in question, yet I 
 preserved silence to the last moment that I remained 
 in the guard-room, and none there either knew my 
 vank or quality, or what business I. had come upon to 
 the- Oastle of St. Clair. An attendant from the gijard- 
 house conducted me, by order of the* officer, to the 
 entrance of the battlements, which were the most su- 
 pGiH) and beautiful I had ever seen. Never was a more 
 ancient ©r formidable fortress, than that which the out- 
 side of the castle presented on my first approaching 
 its venerable walls. 
 
 " When I approached the grand entrance of the.bat- 
 tlem^ents, I. delivered in my passport, which on bcii^g 
 dill y examined by the attendant officer of the guard, 
 with the signature of the Cardinal attached to it, I was 
 immediately admitted within the Castle of St. Clair ; 
 and afterwards conducted, by a page, to a gothic 
 . Z; 19 3 1 
 
434 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 ehamber, magnificently adorned with trophies of war, 
 and otherwise decorated with the finest sculpture and 
 paintings. Among these, and which riveted my atten- 
 tion so greatly that i could not remove my eyes from 
 it for a considerable length of time, was a work exe- 
 , cuted by Salvater Rosa, in his finest style, represent- 
 ing the figure of our blessed Saviour raising Lazarus 
 from the dead ; — and on this I gazed, till 1 felt the 
 warm tear trickling down my face ; for the image of my 
 ill-fated sister at that moment })resented itself to my 
 imagination, and filled my heart with the most inde- 
 scribable agony of deep and poignant regret; and in this 
 situation I was surprised by the sudden entrance of the 
 page, who had conducted me thither, and who now 
 came to inform me that the Lord Albino had been ap- 
 prized of my arrival at the Castle of St. Clair, and now 
 awaited my coming, and that he had orders immedi- 
 ately to conduct me to his presence. On these words, 
 I instantly prepared to follow him ; but my heart beat 
 tumultuously high, when passing a corridor, the page 
 threw open two folding doors, which discovered a 
 most magnificent hall, bnlliantly illuminated with wax 
 tapers, with a chair, cushion, and table, covered with 
 crimson velvet, and the same on the opposite side j one 
 of the chairs was vacant, the other occupied by the 
 Lord Albino himself.*' 
 
 " * This is the hall of audience, so please you, sir,* 
 uttered the page, and the personage you behold seated 
 at the table is our illustrious lord, the great Albino, 
 our most noble, excellent, and worthy master!' To 
 whom, when I approached, I bowed with every mark 
 of the most respectful homage, though with an agita- 
 tion and tremor, vvhkh evidently n)ade him feel for my 
 
OR, MARIKTIK MOULINF. 435 
 
 situation j but never did I behold a man whose coun- 
 tenance seemed more angelic or heavenly, for with a 
 smile of the most affable condescension, he pointed to 
 a chair, and bade me be seated beside him, and enter 
 on the nature of my business. 
 
 "^ " ^ Which I do not usually attend to myself, with 
 those whom I do not know, or who are not especially 
 recommended to me by some personages of dis- 
 tinction,' uttered he ; ' but I have waved this cere- 
 mony with you, young stranger, in the probable con-'^ 
 jecture, that you are friendless, perhaps unfortunate : 
 and it is seldom that the unfortunate find friends at 
 court/ — 
 
 w " ^ But seldom, if ever, indeed, my gracious lord/ 
 uttered I ; and greatly relieved by the kind manner 
 in which he had addressed me, I very soon recovered 
 my self-possession, and ingenuously threw myself upon 
 his bounty, and implored the distinguished honour of 
 his patronage, carefully concealing every part of my 
 private history, that related to my unfortunate sister, 
 and not once mentioning the convent of Mariette Mou- 
 line, or the name of the Cardinal Benvolio ; by which 
 policy J succeeded ; for the illustrious lord immedi- 
 ately accepted of my services, as a private tutor to the 
 young lord, Fernando ; and being well acquainted 
 with the noble family I had quitted, he informed me 
 that I should begin ray establishment that very even- 
 ing in the Castle of St. Clair 5 gave me some private 
 hints respecting the Cardinal Benvolio, and of the 
 conduct I was to adopt towards him 5 and that he was 
 placed in high authority over his vassals and his esta- 
 blishment, and must consequently be considered on a 
 level with himself. 
 
436 THB MiYSTERIBS OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 *' * 1 have one daughter, besides my son, Fernand<(>5' 
 uttered the Lord Albino, an animated glow of raptwie 
 resting on his manly cheek, and sparkling in; his eye— 
 'uQt less the pride of a father's heart, than heu bro- 
 ther : they are both my children, and both inhemt the 
 most virtuous propensities. Now, young man, retire 
 with my page, and he will conduct you forthwith to 
 ajjartments, where you will have refreshments, and 
 such attention shewn you as suits, fihe. station tO/\i^hicli 
 ^ou will belong in my establish niejait in the Castle of Sl 
 Clair. At an eaa:ly hour tQ-morro^ i»^«i»g. X^j^*^ 
 attend.' : . l\ /,;-^: ^. .,• ;; ; ..^ 
 
 " Ferdinand, imagine the nature of my sensatiQUa {*t 
 having, thus; far succeeded in the fondest, wish of my 
 heart, and the proudest aim of my ambition. I was 
 overwhelmed with the tide of gratitude,, and 1 wOiUld 
 have thrown myself prostrate at the. feet of my noble 
 and iltetrious benefactor, had he permitted me to dui 
 so,, but with the greatest kindness, he waved his hand, 
 and instan% dismissed me. 
 
 *^ The apartment to whicL the page now conducted 
 fne, wasverydiiierent to the suite of magnificent cham- 
 bers I had. passed through before, although perfectly 
 carrespoBudEnt with the gothic style of the whole, castle. 
 The room was all hung with tapestry, and illustrative 
 of warlike heroes, and the bloody battles, that had been 
 fought in the feudal times of near a century pastj. A 
 valuable library, consisting of books, ancient and 
 modern, occupied nearly one half of this spacious 
 apartment, and that the page informed me belonged to 
 the young Lord Fernaaido Albino,; and was appro- 
 {H-iated wholly to himself aud his studies^ in the several 
 branches of his education ; and pointing to a cecess 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOITl.INH. 43? 
 
 which had crimson curtains richly festooned over it in 
 several directions, * That recess which you see there,' 
 uttered he, ' leads to the private apartments of the 
 Lord Feraando, in one of which chambers he reposes, 
 and none can enter there without first obtaining per- 
 mission of the Cardiijul Benvolio. I have even known ' 
 the Lady Mai-gairet^« his mother, ask leave to visit her 
 son privately, and of the Cardinal Benvolio.' 
 
 " An expression of involuntary surprise had certainly 
 escaped my lips, at this singular communication of the 
 page, had not prudence checked it 5 and 1 was nearly 
 on the point of inquiring who had been formerly in the 
 capacity of tutor to the Lord Fernando, he being then 
 in Uhe, sixteenth year of. his age ; b«t this inclination I 
 also cautiously suj>|)ressed, and an; attendant comiug 
 in to ,say that the reft-eshments were in. readiness, I was 
 not sorry that a eonversation was discontinued between 
 iWiQ ^nd: the piage, vyhich might have been the means of 
 betraying me into some error,whichl studiously wished 
 tQ.avoidj,, well, knowing the arduous and difficult cha,- 
 raetcr I had to sustain in the service of the Lord Al- 
 bino, whom it was already easy enough to perceive 
 was not only the fond, credulous, and indulgent hus- 
 bund, but the too yielding instrument of other de- 
 signs. A very elegant repast was set before me, such 
 indeed, as I bad seldom been accustomed to in the 
 vicinity of Vienna, and of which 1 partook plentifully, 
 while I returned the humblest thanks to Providence foi* 
 having so fortunately favoured my plaUvS ; and after i 
 had dined, the attendant who waited on me, and who 
 had i)reserved the most profound silence, respectfully 
 withdrew, and left me to pursue my meditations, which 
 u ere, indeed, of tiie oiost perplexed nature. I had. 
 
438 
 
 indeed arrived to the very summit of my wishes 5 and 
 had met with so flattering a reception from the Lord 
 Albino as to hold out the most brilliant prospects for 
 my future success ; but the very thought of the pow- 
 erful interest of this Cardinal Benvolio operated, in 
 a great measure, against the tumultuous sensations I 
 enjoyed of being thought worthy of becoming the tutor 
 of so illustrious a personage as the heir of the great 
 house of Albino. In short, Ferdinand, 1 felt afraid to 
 encounter the looks of this said Cardinal, whom 1 hated 
 and despised for divers reasons 5 and 1 believed that as 
 1 then felt that a brother's vengeance had alone dictated 
 my purpose of coming to the Castle of St. Clair, to 
 behold the destroyer of Adelaide Aubigny, I actually 
 believed, Ferdinand, that 1 was impelled by this mo- 
 tive, and this motive only, to enter the battlements of 
 St. Clair : still 1 did not wish to indulge in gloomy or 
 melancholy reflections, or repine at Providence for the ' 
 blessings it bestowed, so far greater than my merits de- 
 served , or my most sanguine wishes had foreboded 5 and 
 retiring to the apartment I had quitted, which the page 
 informed me was that in which 1 was to remain, as 
 being the tutor of the young Lord Fernando, 1 had re- 
 course to the well stored library to amuse my mind till 
 such time as 1 should be called upon to attend to the 
 duties of my situation 3 and the very first volume that 
 attracted my attention was the poetical works of the 
 admired Crabbe ; and, on opening the book, J found 
 a particular page had been marked down, beginning 
 with the beautiful tale ' Phoebe Dawson,' related in 
 the following words : 
 
 * Two summers since 1 saw at lammas fair, 
 f- X ^'■' The sweetest flower that tver blossomed there ; 
 
OR, MA RI KITE MOULINE. 439 
 
 When Phoebe Dawson gaily crossed the green. 
 
 In haste to see, and happy to be seen. 
 
 Her air, her manners, all who saw admired ; 
 
 Courteous, though coy, — and gentle, though retired; 
 
 The joy of youth and health her eyes displayed ; 
 
 And ease of heart her every look conveyed. 
 
 A native skill her simple robes expressed. 
 
 As with untutored elegance she dressed : 
 
 The lads around admired so fair a sight,"*, 
 
 And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave delight. 
 
 Admirers soon of every age she gained ; 
 
 Her beauty won them, and her worth retained. 
 
 Lo ! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black. 
 
 And torn green gown loose hanging at her back; 
 
 One who an infant in her arms sustains. 
 
 And seems in p?itience, striving with her pains t 
 
 Pinched are her looks, as one who pines for bread,—- 
 
 Whose cares are growing, and whose hopes are fled : 
 
 Pale her parched lips, her heavy eyes sunk low, 
 
 And tears unnoticed from their channels flow. 
 
 Serene her manner, till some sudden pain 
 
 Frets the meek soul, and then she's calm again : 
 
 Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes. 
 
 And every step with cautious terror makes. 
 
 But not alone that infant in her arms. 
 
 But nearer cause her anxious soul alarms : 
 
 With water burdened, then she picks her way. 
 
 Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay : 
 
 Till in mid-green she trusts a place unsound. 
 
 And deeply plunges in the adhesive ground ; 
 
 Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes. 
 
 While hope the mind, as strength the frame, forsakes 
 
 For when so full the cup of sorrow grows. 
 
 Add but a drop, it instantly overflows. 
 
 And now her path, but not her peace, she gains. 
 
 Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains ; 
 
 Her house she reaches, open leaves the door, 
 
 And placing first her infant on the floor, 
 
 And b^res her bosom to the winds, and sits. 
 
 And sobbing struggles wi^ the rising fits. 
 
 t 
 
440 THE MYSTKHIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 m vain. Tiiey come : sh« feels the iuflatitig grief, 
 
 That shuts the swelling bosom from relief; — 
 
 That speaks, iu feeble cries, a soul distressed. 
 
 Or the^sad- laagia, that caiindt be repressed. 
 
 The neighbottfiiaaatrtm leaves her wheel, and flies, 
 
 With all the aid. her poverty supplies : 
 
 Unfee'd — the calls «f nature she obeys ; 
 
 Not led by profit, nor allured by praise : 
 
 And waiting longtill these contentions cease. 
 
 She speaks of ctnnfoit, and departs in peace. 
 
 Friend of distress, the mourner feels tl>y aid : 
 
 She cannot pay tbefr— but thou /wilt be paid. 
 
 But who this child, of weakBress, want, and care 
 
 *Tis Phoebe Dawson, prid« of lamraas fair ! ^ 
 
 Who took her lorer for his sparkling eyes, 
 
 Expressi<His warm, and love inspiring eyes, 
 
 Compasftion' first assailed her gentle; heart. 
 
 For; ill Inh- ixsSerin gs , al 1 his bosom '« smart : 
 
 And then, his piJay«rs ! tbiey would (a nsavagse move. 
 
 And win the t?<i> Wast of the sex to love. 
 
 But, ah ! too soon, his looks success declared; 
 
 Too late ^«r bss, the tnarria4;e rites repai red : 
 
 The faithless flattferer=fhdn/ibis rows forgot : 
 
 A captious tyrant, or !an«t^s6t. 
 
 Jf present, railing tiilhe saw her pained ; 
 
 If absent, spending wUat^heir labours ^aiw^df 
 
 Till that fair form in Want^aud sickaessspiued,, 
 
 And hope and comfort, fled' that gem tie iDind/ 
 
 '^ I was deeply affected by the perusal of this little 
 simple and pathetic tale, in which I feared that the* 
 inspired author had drawn too true and just a picture 
 of the base perfidy of mankind ; and though my dear, 
 unfortunate, lovely sister had not exactly, in her mise- 
 ries, resen^bled the fate of poor Phoebe Dawson, yet 
 in this beautiful poem there was, in some respects, an 
 allusion to her melancholy history : and the book was 
 still in my hand, and fi tear had just started to my eye, 
 
OR, MAttlETTE MOO LINE 44l 
 
 when a gentle tap at the door aroused me from the 
 gloomy reverie into which I had fallen ; but, quickly 
 rticoverlng", 1 arose and unclosed the door of the apart- 
 ment, when one of the most elegant youths my eyes had 
 ever seen, who bore a striking resemblance to the Lord 
 Albino, bowed gracefully, and demanded to know, with 
 an air of the sweetest affiibility, if he was right in con- 
 cluding that I was the gentleman appointed by his 
 father to be his tutor ; to which he added, * You will 
 pardon me for not waiting for a formal introduction to 
 you, before I intruded myself upon your presence ; but 
 my noble father, who is now engaged on matters of 
 state, has already apprized me, (from the little he has 
 seen of you, sir) of what sort of Character I had to 
 encounter in Mr. Auberry ;' for that was the name, 
 Ferdinand, that I thought it expedient to introduce my- 
 self by to the Lord Albino: a counterpart of which 
 was bis amiable and accomplished son, whose manners 
 were gentle and refined, and whose mind was the tem- 
 ple of purity and honour ; and with whom I now enter- 
 ed on a course of studies, wholly different to those 
 practical lessons he had received formerly under the 
 hands (as I had understood) of one of the professors 
 of the adjacent college. 
 
 * But he was dismissed from my father's establish- 
 ment,* uttered the young lord, suppressing as I 
 thought a sentiment of some involuntary displeasure, 
 which he then felt, * by the Cardinal Benvolio, whom 
 he had in some slight sort offended. I thought the 
 severity used towards him merited not such disgrace 
 and punishment ; and I attempted to interpose in be- 
 half of the unfortunate man : but, alas ! my utmost 
 influence with my father failed to succeed. He had 
 19 3 k 
 
442 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 given offence to the cardinal, and that was sufficient. 
 
 Poor Meranda was dismised !" a sigh followetl 
 
 this remark, and an interval of silence ensued. At 
 length I ventured to exclaim, — 
 
 ' Heaven itself pardons the offences of erring raor- 
 -tals ; it holds out mercy to repentance, even for tl>e 
 most hardened sinner. Should man be less forgiving 
 than his Maker, whom he is daily sinning against?' 
 
 To which, my amiable, young pupil instantly re- 
 ^ilied,— 
 
 * Certainly not, Mr. Auberry ;- such unpitylng 
 conduct must ever, in my mind, excite disgust : and is 
 extremely reprehensible in those, more especially, 
 seated in high authority, and placed at the head of the 
 holy church.' 
 
 * Yet the Cardinal Benvolio is extolled even to the 
 very skies,' uttered I, perhaps with more warmth than 
 occasion warranted ; but 1 hated this saintly hypo- 
 crite, and exulted in hearing hiin condemned, even in 
 the judgment of the son of his patron. You may call 
 this revenge ; but I had the feelings of an injured bro- 
 ther struggling in my heart, and could not conceal a 
 seatiment of which I was not ashamed. * No man,' 
 again resumed 1, ' holds so bright a name in the court 
 of Vienna, as this pious holy man, to hear whose 
 discourse and sage doctrines, both the aged and the 
 young assemble in multitudes, and with wonder and 
 delight, treasure up each word that is pronounced by 
 such saintly lips.' 
 
 * True,' uttered the Lord Fernando ; * he has ac- 
 quired popularity and fame ; but it is easier to do this, 
 than to draw approbation from the truly discriminating 
 axid discerning few. All hearts do not acknowledge 
 
OR, MAUIETTE MOULINE. 443^ 
 
 the umpire of the virtues of the Cardinal Benvolio ; — 
 all kuees do not, will not, bow to his holy shrine 1' — 
 , Ferdinand, I felt transported beyond all human 
 bounds, at learning the true statement of these feelings 
 in the young Fernando I already was my vengeance 
 half satiated ; but finding a necessity for concealing 
 ray feelings, or otherwise incautiously reveal them, I 
 forbore, though unwillingly, to make any further com- 
 ment on the conduct of the pious man ; and entered 
 into subjects of a very different nature, of which the 
 present perilous state of the times was one : and I 
 found by the discourse of my young and ingenuous pu- 
 pil, that he panted for military fame, and longed to 
 follow to the field, with all the spirit and impatience of 
 a martial hero ! and besides informing me of what, in- 
 deed, I already knew, — that Austria had declared open 
 war against Bohemia, he protested that if his father 
 did not grant him permission to enter the service in 
 which he was to be engaged, be would wholly abandon 
 his present pursuits, and beseech the emperor to give 
 him a place in his army. 
 
 * For 1 know,* uttered he, that the cardinal is now 
 using all his influence over the minds of my father and 
 mother to induce me to follow the church ; but, sir, 
 though I revere the church, and hallow the precepts 
 of our holy and sacred religion, yet 1 will not have my 
 free wishes so controled or fettered by the authority 
 of the Cardinal Benvolio. I will serve God and man ; 
 but 1 will not serve monkish priests, or bend to that 
 altar I cannot adore ! Am 1 right, Mr. Auberry ? if 
 wrong, you are my tutor, and being such, it is your 
 duty frankly to tell me so, do you hold with the senti- 
 ments I have just expressed ? or shall 1 tamely submit 
 
444 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 to fe«coiue a passive instrument in the hands of th& 
 cardinal ? Alas ! his influence with my mother is un- 
 bounded, — with my father, no less, — with ray young" 
 and lovely sister, not so much ; for Augustina loves 
 her brother : and oh ! Mr. Aubigny, how I. love my 
 sister ! how beautilul she is ! how chaste, how anima- 
 ted, and yet bow innocent ! would to the immortal 
 gpds that I were a monarch, presiding o'er undivided 
 empires, to reward the excellence and worth of my 
 gentle, lovely sister !' 
 
 Ferdinand, it was a chord that touched the very 
 feelihgs of my heart ; for how had I loved Adelaide 
 Aubigny ! she was lovely too, — and chaste as lovely I 
 and her destroyers were — her husband and the Cardi- 
 nal Benvolio ! And I could have clasped the youtli 
 before me with transports to my heart ! I could have 
 worshipped him as an earthly saint ! but my emotions 
 were too strong* and powerful. 1 burst into a flood of 
 tears, which much shocked and surprised the Lord 
 Fernando. At length, recovering, I apologized for 
 the liberty I had been guilty of, thus in his presence, 
 to give vent to my sorrows. * But I had a sister once, 
 too, my lord,* cried I, ' a young sister, whom I loved,^ 
 even as thou didst thine ; — and she was fair as the 
 opening breath of summer's morn, and as angels, pure ! 
 she dropt into an untimely grave, nipt in her early 
 bloom ; and her destroyers were ' 
 
 I checked the full impulse of my throbbing heart : 
 I struggled to conceal the authors of my Adelaide's 
 shame, and ray Adelaide's miseries ! the miseries and 
 the severity that had broken her gentle heart, atid made 
 her spirit fly to celestial skies ! and the amiable youth 
 did all, within the limits of his* power, to console the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 4^ 
 
 anguished feelings of ray heart ; and by his soft and 
 gentle arguments at length succeeded ; but delicate- 
 ly evaded all explanation of the melancholy subject to 
 Avhich i had alluded. Nor do I recollect, that he ever 
 mentioned his lovely sister, fearful of renewing my 
 sorrows, till the fatal evening that he went forth with 
 his gallant father to the field of battle ; and then the 
 parting between the sister and the brother was pro- 
 phetic. Alas ! need I paint it to you, Ferdinand, were 
 you not present when both the warriors fell ?' 
 
 And so 1 was, Sir Orville Faulkner. I had reason 
 to remember the day that the great Albino fell ; but of 
 that anon. Aubigny concluded his melancholy recital, 
 by informing me that his young pupil daily flourished 
 under his hands : and that the warm plaudits bestowed 
 upon the labour of his pains and his unremitting endea- 
 vours to perfect the education of his son, that he ob- 
 tained from his illustrious patron, at length excited the 
 envy and the bitterest rancour of the Cardinal Benvo- 
 lio, who took occasion several times of grossly insult- 
 ing him about the studies of the Lord Fernando, and 
 of his having perverted him from theprinciples wished 
 to be.inculcated in him by his noble father : which on 
 the part of Aubigny was powerfully resented ; in short, 
 he made no scruple of revealing to the cardinal all he 
 knew of the melancholy end of his unfortunate sister : 
 charging him with being instrumental to it, by the se- 
 verity he had used towards her, in the convent of Ma- 
 riette Mouline ; and at length, discovered his name 
 and relationship to Adelaide Aubigny. Shocked and 
 surprised at this confession, the priest trembled, that 
 the whole of his perfidious conduct should be known 
 to the Albino family ; and making a virtue of down- 
 
446 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAlR ; 
 
 right necessity, he bethought him, if he offered some 
 sort of apology, beside bribery, that as an humble and 
 poor man, he would willingly accept of it. But in the 
 character of Aubigny he was widely mistaken ; he was 
 not to be bribed, neither was his situation so destitute 
 or obscure as to lead him to screen a traitor under the 
 mask of a lamb, — yet he felt unwilling to injure those 
 who had injured him. Adelaide, the helpless victim 
 of his cruelty, aHd whom if she had lived had probably 
 been also the victim of his secret and disgraceful pas- 
 sion for her person, was mouldering her fair and love- 
 ly form in the dust, and could never rise more to re- 
 peat her wronps, or tell the sorrows of her heart : it 
 had died with her, except that the offspring survived, 
 and that was a circumstance that he by no means wish- 
 ed to reveal to the knowledge of the crafty cardinal, 
 and therefore buried it in silence ; at the same time* 
 that he thought it politic to accept of the proffered 
 apology of the cardinal, because there was no probable 
 way of avoiding it, and yet continuing in the service of 
 the Lord Albino, than by the means of preserving si- 
 lence on the subject of the cardinal. 
 
 Aubigny therefore remained in the service of the 
 Albino family till the Lord Fernando had entirely com- 
 pleted his studies, and voluntarily quitted that service 
 like a just and honourable man, when he found that he 
 could no longer be of any service to him : and this was 
 the period, also, Sir Orville Faulkner, that I became a 
 dependant on the bounty of the Lord Albino ; he went 
 to the wars, and to the wars went I with him : but be- 
 fore this time, Aubigny one morning disappeared, and 
 no one could tell whither he had fled. Some unfavour- 
 able reports had prevailed against the cardinal at the- 
 
OR, MARIETTE aiOULINE. 447 
 
 time, and I, amont^ the number, was firmly persuaded 
 that this pious holy man (so famed for christian charity 
 and godlike deeds) had done no less than murder the 
 unfortunate A.ubigny. I hated him, and 1 suspected 
 him of the foul deed ; although no [)ossitive proof could 
 be brought forward against him yet I knew that he 
 was capable of such an act ; and the murmurings that 
 prevailed at the castle of St. Ciuir at this period, to- 
 gether with the feudal wars whichhad then broke out 
 with thcMnost resistless fury, rendered it a dangerous 
 abode for those not materially connected with the il- 
 lustrious family ; still I preserved the highest and 
 most exalted gratitude towards my noble patron, who 
 assured me that the very first promotion that took place 
 in the army, immediately, und^^r his command, that I 
 should hold a rank of a superior order, and set out with 
 him in the grand attack that was to be made against 
 the allied forces, which were to pitch their tents on the 
 plains of Morna Penritch, in ancient history so renown- 
 ed for the bloody battles, which had been fought on 
 them, and the gallant warriors who had drained the 
 most precious blood in their veins, in the service of 
 their sovereign and their country. It was on the plains 
 of Morna Penritch, that the Emperor Josephus God- 
 foida fought so desperately against the Bohemians, and 
 conquered them : and to this place was the Lord Al- 
 bino appointed to go with the command of a body of 
 near ten thousand men, the Lord Fernando and myself 
 were also to accompany him on this fatal expedition. 
 Ah 1 Sir Orville ! how little did I think that it was the 
 last I ever more should take with my dear illustrious 
 master : but let me check the remembrance of this 
 memorable, and to me, awfully prophetic day ; before 
 
 im ..^ 
 
448 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 whieh, the iDost active preparations were going for- 
 ward in the castle of St. Clair, ^hich occupied a period 
 nearly of six months, during which, I wooed apd won 
 the heart of Mademoiselle La Roche, the conQdential 
 attendant of the beauteous daughter of the great Al- 
 bino. I did not espouse the lovely maid, without the 
 knowledge of the Lady Margaret and her illustrious 
 lord, although that haughty and inflexible woman 
 frowned upon our mutual love, and to my Antoinette 
 proved most unkind : yet the storm once blown over, 
 she was kind again, and promised her protection while 
 I was gone to the wars. 
 
 But to the Lady Margaret was I not wholly indebt- 
 ed for this kindness, but to the most matchless of her 
 sex, the lovely, virtuous Augustina. It was her who, 
 like an angel of pity, as she was of beauty, interceded 
 with her stern mother to protect a soldier's wife, whose 
 husband was fighting the battles of his country, and 
 my mind would have rested perfectly satisfied with 
 this arrangement had I not feared the serpent that 
 had crept into the bosom of this illustrious family only 
 to undermine its repose : — need I say that serpent was 
 no other than the Cardinal Benvolio? He it was whose 
 baneful influence over the mind of Albino's wife, had 
 amounted, on her side, to absolute folly ; and on his, 
 something worse than the basest ingratitude and per- 
 fidy to his illustrious patron. Besides, a suspicion 
 having arisen in my mind,that he neither liked me nor 
 Antoinette, fearful that we should discover some of the 
 dangerous proceedings that were going on in the cas- 
 tle of St. Clair, wholly unknown to the Lord Albino, 
 and that we should not long suffer him to become the 
 dupe of such infamous conduct. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 449 
 
 ** And the Cardinal took care himself studiously to 
 avoid me, till one evening J encountered him in the 
 gothic armory, which was, and is now, the favourite 
 retreat of the Lady Margaret Albino. The shades of 
 evening had already thrown its sober silvery mantle o'er 
 the grey and lofty towers of St. Clair, and a faint glim- 
 mer of light, just sufficient to render darkness more 
 visible, appeared in the armory : and the Cardinal 
 Benvolio and Albino's wife had been some time engaged 
 in the closest and most secret conference together. It 
 was the night of the carnival at Vienna, and our illus- 
 trious lord was absent in attendance on the Emperor 
 Josephus, who, with the officers of his court, were then 
 to assemble with all his judges, to consult on matters 
 of the highest importance to the state. The young 
 Lord Fernando had accompanied his noble father on 
 this expedition : and when they set out, I had particu- 
 lar charge from my illustrious master, to take care of 
 the dispatches, if any should arrive in the interval of 
 his absence, and lay them on the table in the armory." 
 
 '* ' In the gothic chamber, hearest thou that, Ferdi- 
 nand,* uttered he, with a peculiar tone and emphasis 
 in his manner, which I had never remarked before ; 
 * the chamber that the Lady Margaret is so wont to 
 visit in the darksome hour. There the pious soul doth 
 commune with her most secret thoughts, and contem- 
 l)laces with wonder and delight, the trophies of her 
 buried ancestors.' 
 
 " And there, thought I, the saintly Cardinal doth also 
 love to repair, to breathe forth his pious orgies, and to 
 contemplate something more pleasing to his eye-sight 
 than the relics of departed heroes, or the trophies of 
 buried ancestors : his contemplations are on the living 
 
 « 20 3 L 
 
 # 
 
450 TilK MYSTrRRfES OK ST. CKAIR J 
 
 not on the dead. — ^But this thought was not disclosed ; 
 |>ut in holy silence sealed in the most secret recesses 
 of my hearty and I beheld my dear lord depart, with 
 8i melancholy presage, that the proceedings of the 
 Lady Margaret with the Cardinal Benvolio would at 
 some future hour of his life, render him the most 
 miserable, as well as the most injured man in existence. 
 "And on this very eventful evening, I had more oc- 
 casion than ever to consider that my fears were not 
 merely imaginary, for at a late hour some dispatches, 
 from the foreign allies, arrived, expressly for my 
 honoured master, which, being his secretary, (a situ- 
 ation he had lately appointed me to) I had authority to 
 take charge of in the most private manner: and they 
 were accordingly delivered into my hands, by the officer 
 of the guard, and I should have immediately proceeded 
 with them, as directed by the Lord Albino, to the 
 gothic armory, had I not beheld the glimmering light, 
 that threw its feeble rays over the corridor — and from 
 thence I concluded that the Lady Margaret was pay- 
 ing her nightly visit there, although the most profound 
 silence prevailed within its gloomy, antiquated walls : 
 yet I certainly had not, on this ever to be remembered 
 night, the remotest suspicion, that the Cardinal Ben- 
 volio was the companion of the pious lady's holy me- 
 ditations, till I had arrived within a few paces of the 
 ddoi'', tit which I should have gently knocked for admis- 
 sion, had I not heard voices within it, one of which, I 
 plainly distinguished to be that of the Cardinal Ben- 
 volio, and the other that of the Lady Margaret Al- 
 bilifr! and shocked at the perfidy of the one, and the 
 unblushing effrontery of the other, I was about to re- 
 tire, till a more seasonable opportunity occurred for 
 
OR, MARIBTIE MOULINB. 461 
 
 laying the dispatches on the table, when the name of 
 Ferdinand caught my ear, and instinctive curiosity, 
 which I found it utterly impossible to resist, induced 
 me, for the first time in my life, to become a listener : — 
 boding no good, I was certain, to me, was the mention 
 of my name in the mouth of the Cardinal. The voice 
 became more low and tremulous — it was Lady Mar- 
 garet's ! — I applied my ear to the key hole — my ej^es, 
 too. Sir Orville Faulkner, were not idie-; tliere was 
 light enough for me to distinguish object?, and I was 
 horror-struck at the discovery I then made of the guilt 
 of Albino's wife 1 and the stab that was given to his 
 honour, by a designing, artful, and perfidious villaii; ! 
 " I would have fled precipitately from the fatal gotliic 
 chamber, after the too certain confirmation of the dis- 
 honour of Albino's faithless wife, lest in lhej)erturbation 
 of my mind, and the poignant gnef 1 sustained at the 
 deep injuries of my dear and honoured master, I should 
 burst out in the bitterest invectives against the base 
 authors of his wrongs, had not prudence suggested 
 that it would be absolute madness, to reveal the secret 
 i was now in possession of. — There had been no wit- 
 nesses by, but me, to prore the treachery of Benvolio, 
 or the guilt of Albino's wife — save one all-seeing Eye, 
 who never sleeps on mortal actions 1 He would know 
 that she would not falsely be accused of the dishonour 
 of her noble, virtuous, and too confiding husband: — 
 yes, the all-seeing Eye of heaven would know the 
 completion of her crime, and the full measure of her 
 guilt ! — but by earthly means, how was I to prove it, 
 should I even reveal the fatal secret? — how pierce 
 the bosom of a fond and doating husband; or 
 harrow up the feelings of a virtuous son, and an in no- 
 
452 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 cent, lovely daughter I—No, thought I, it were better 
 to let the dark tale be hidden, till the slow, yet al- 
 ways just avenger of foul crimes, brings it to light and 
 to punishment : and I will patiently await the ven- 
 geance of heaven, to denounce a curse on the head of 
 the perfidious pair. Thus resolved, 1 held my station at 
 the door, in silence, mute as death ; when, again, the 
 name of Ferdinand saluted my ear : and in a low mur- 
 muring voice, I heard the Lady Mai^aret pro- 
 nounce : — 
 
 " Not yet, Benvolio : the season is unapt, and the 
 time impolitic. Should Ferdinand be missing while 
 Albino is at Vienna, strange suspicions may arise in the 
 minds of the vassals, as to the cause of his so sudden 
 disappearance from the Castle of St. Clair. Remember 
 that the loss of Aubigny is still fresh in the remem- 
 brance of the sickly fools ! Let him go to the wars-- 
 and haply the goodly shot may do his business, and rid 
 us of the ugly work ; but should he escape the cannon's 
 
 angry shot ' The perfidious monster, in the shape 
 
 of a woman, made a fearful pause, as if her blood ran 
 chilly through her veins, at the premeditated death she 
 designed for one who had never wronged her — the 
 orphan youth who had been protected by her virtuous 
 husband, and who was, at this moment the new made 
 husband of a faithful, humble girl, who had passed all 
 her days in her service, and to whom she had sacredly 
 promised an expiring parent, that she would become 
 a m6ther ; and yet this monster was coolly deliberating 
 in what manner she should deprive her of her only 
 protector— her husband, and by the foul means of 
 most unnatural murder ! 
 
 " And soon was the pause she made filled up by the 
 
OR, MARIKTTR MOULINH. 453 
 
 Cardinal, who, equally guilty, cruel, and atrocious as 
 herself, emphatically pronounced — • 
 
 *' ' Yes, lady, should he, indeed, escape the cannon's 
 shot, and return victorious from the battle, with his 
 gallant lord, think you we will permit him long to in- 
 habit the Castle of St. Clair, and lord it over us with 
 the pride of martial conquest ? and his young upstart 
 wife believes she hath atchieved a noble exploit, in be- 
 coming the bride of the young soldier ! No, lady, we 
 are npt so unwise, methinks, and so impolitic. — If the 
 cannon fail, the dagger's point shall strike more 
 surely.' 
 
 " * But not till be returns from the wars I* uttered 
 the Lady Margaret in a deep hollow tone, expressive of 
 the tumults of her wild disordered mind, as if unwill- 
 ing, out of some touch of pity for the hapless Antoi- 
 nette, to let the dark deed be sudden. ^ Benvolio, I 
 command — I implore you, spare the life of Ferdinand, 
 till he returns from battle with Albino 1' 
 
 " ^ Lady, implore not of him whose services you 
 have a right to command,' uttered the accursed priest : 
 * You are the. leading star of Benvolio's destiny; — he 
 but the humblest of your humble slaves. Your suit is 
 granted.— -Ferdinand lives till the wars be ended! 
 Victory or death shall decide his mortal ot immortal 
 career ! which thou pleasest.* 
 
 ) 
 
454 
 
 rUK MYSTKRIKS OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee. 
 
 That n« revenue hast,' but thy good spirits. 
 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor 
 
 Be flattered ? Dost thou hear ? 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 
 And could of men distinguish her election. 
 
 She hath sealed thee for herself : 
 
 For thou hast been as one, in suffering all, 
 
 that suffers nothing : a man that fortune 
 
 Buffets and rewards ! Give ine that man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In my heart's core, as I do thee." 
 
 Shakes PCABE. 
 
 '* THERE is a shuddering of th6 heart, like unto 
 death, when it creeps slowly through our veins, and 
 yet are not aware of the fatal and prophetic warning 
 that summons us hence, yet calls us back again to 
 life by the dear objects that form the happiness of our 
 existence; and that shuddering I felt. Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, on hearing the dread sentences pronounced 
 from the lips of two such savage and remorseless 
 monsters of def)ravity clothed in mortal shape. 
 
OR, MAtJIETTK MOULINK. 455 
 
 " Already I felt the fell butcher's knife at my throat 5 
 and I should certainly have fainted, without sense or 
 motion, wholly overpowered by the dangers that sur- 
 rounded my situation, at the foot of the gothic cham- 
 ber, had not the door of the armory at that moment 
 suddenly burst open, and from thence stalked forth 
 the Cardinal Benvolio, who would immediately have 
 discovered me, had not the faint glimmerings of the 
 lamp been nearly extinguished. I instantly crept be- 
 hind one of the massive pillars, and so eluded his ob- 
 servation : and soon after the Lady Margaret Albino 
 retired to her apartments, leaving the door of the 
 armory unclosed : and no sooner did I hear the last 
 sound of her footsteps, than I stole from the place of 
 my concealment, although with a dread and terror 
 that I never experienced before : yet a sense of duty 
 to my dear injured master in part nerved my feelings, 
 and armed me with tenfold courage to discharge my 
 trust ; and with a heart palpitating and a hand trem- 
 bling, I entered the guilty chamber that the perfidious 
 and cruel monsters had just quitted; and laying the 
 despatches on the table, instantly retired to my own 
 apartment, and, securing the door, endeavoured to 
 collect my scattered thoughts, and resolve on some 
 plan that would protect me from the intended malice 
 of my enemies, after which I attempted to partake of 
 a few moment's repose, but my every effort was un- 
 availing ; — ^uubroken were my slumbers, and filled 
 with the most ghastly shapes and horrid fancies, that 
 imagination could possibly conceive : — at one moment, 
 mcthought I beheld the Cardinal Benvolio Avith the 
 uplifted dagger, ready to strike it to my heart ! and 
 in the next, a female with a dark, terrible, and fero- 
 
466 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 (^ious countenance and gigantic figure, stood over me, 
 pointing to a poisoned bowl, and commanding me to 
 drink of it! — then beside her was my lovely gentle 
 wife, with streaming eyes and supplicating looks, im- 
 ploring her to save her husband from the cruel death 
 they were about to give me. In short, I awoke from 
 my feverish and disturbed dreams in a state of distrac- 
 tion not to be described, but by one exposed to the 
 terrors of such a situation. But with the morning 
 light, some of those terrors were dispelled, for my 
 noble and illustrious lord, and all the suit he had taken 
 with him, returned from Vienna, to the Castle of St. 
 Clair, and with him vanished all my fears ; for I knew 
 that I should be protected from further outrage while 
 & remained in his princely domain, and that his per- 
 fidious wife, and the treacherous Benvolio, would not 
 proceed in the measure of their guilt, in the fear of 
 being exposed to shame and to punishment by the 
 Lord Albino. 
 
 ^' Thus, for awhile, the tiger's rage was suspended 
 o'er the neckof the innocentlamb; and preparations for 
 along campaign, and the secret expedition that my lord 
 was going upon, were now in the utmost state of for- 
 wardness and activity; but as the time progressively 
 advanced, that was to bear me from the presence of my 
 beloved Antoinette, and leave her in the hands of such 
 savage, remorseless monsters, I became distracted with 
 a thousand fears for her safety and happiness : and un- 
 certain whether I might ever return again to the Castle 
 of St. Clair, or if returning, what further evil might 
 attend my fate, I became dejected and unhappy, which 
 my illustrious lord one day perceiving, he addressed 
 me in the following words ; — 
 
OR, maribttb moulinb. 457 
 
 _** 'Ferdinand, I have, for several succeeding days 
 ;^a&tj|; remarked the deep melancholy that possesses 
 y^, which you vainly attempt to conceal from my ob- 
 servation. I would, from motives of delicacy, withhold 
 fron) inquiring into the cause of your secret sorrows, 
 ((id not I know that you would not — could not — impute 
 tjliose j^iotives to idle curiosity, but to the great anxiety 
 1 feel for you welfare and happiness. It is painful for 
 me to behold any human being about me miserable, 
 without seeking to know if 1 can remedy the cause. 
 Much more do I feel for you, because you are the son 
 of a brave soldier, and the orphan youth, whom, in 
 liis expiring moments, he confided to my protection. 
 We are about, Ferdinand, to engage in a perilous war; 
 and must endure a long and tediou& campaign, ere we 
 shall again behold the lofty towers of St. Clair. Vic- 
 tory or death will decide it ; or in oth«r words. Albino 
 must return a conqueror from the field, or fall among 
 the gallant slain ones. — Hearcst thou, Ferdinand, the 
 fiat of a soldier's fate, which must also determine thine, 
 if you go with me to the battle ? but, haply, thou dost 
 already repent of the resolution thou hast made ! — thou 
 hast lately taken to thine arms a young and lovely 
 maiden, which, perchance, may stand between thee and 
 thy affections to a soldier's foitune; — woman, soft 
 woman, doth not incline to war : out peace, gentle 
 peace and smiling love is the proper element for wo- 
 man's heart : and it maybe, that Ar»toinette would 
 much rather liave thy head pillowed on love's soft bosom, 
 than graced with laurels of a soldier's conquest ! — an^ 
 J grant, the wish is natural to a fond woman, just ^m- 
 pannelled in the bonds of wedlock. Say then, Perdir 
 nand, if this be the secret burden of the sorrows that 
 -620 3m 
 
4^8 THE AlYStERlfiS Of ST. CLAiR • 
 
 SO rudely press upon thy youthful heart, and so oppress 
 thy lively spirits ; spe^k then : — dd I guess truly, as 
 .to the cause ? if sb, 1 will gladly release thee from thy 
 promised vows, ami give t'hy young wife her husband 
 to her ionci arms again.* 
 
 " * Notso, niy noble and illustrious lord,* uttered I, 
 •my Antoinistte thou hast indeed wronged by this sup- 
 position— believe heir ^^t so puerile, or so weakly- 
 'minded : .she hath a woman's tenderness, but she hath 
 also a womah^s spirit, which ^Vould resist all considera- 
 tions of her owVi happiness, that would impede the pros- 
 pects of hfei: nusbattd'^ maftial glory. No, my good 
 lorcl, I do 4io^ repent (nor Mt shall) of the sacred pro- 
 hiise I tiave ma^ethee! Alas 1 my lord, some othie'r 
 grief dotliyek me sdfetyi iM caftfse of Whidh, with all 
 "thy mi'glily'pdW^^^^ SM't^y mo^st '^ic^'diicnt heiart,thbti 
 canWn'ol relieve i'dh, tny gti(jd i^ot^d, t6uch not oil 
 rfiis taie of my dis'ak'ti'btifs '^'itf, Vibl-ating every cliot*d 
 that" dotli pierce ihV iiiMO^t s'on^l;"*aiTd arotfses me^b 
 vengeance, fierce and tei'rible ^s thfe fell ti§:fei-*s ra^, 
 when first He darts on his 'd^ft^ni^d'ess prey J^--yet 
 shouldst thou question nie, my loi*d, ii's to th^im^port 
 pat my "words cbnvey, by thetmAibrta;! gbds, I cotild 
 not answer 'tbee, or ievei' fekplain the inystery V • * 
 
 ^' to wtiich fhe'LbrcI AMiib;, 'iviith atn astonrshmekk 
 and wonder that beg^ar^d iiff'j^^^i^s of description, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " * Ferdinand, I know thee virtuous, and will not con-N 
 demnthee; though ! like not nbyeitery, yet I tvill be- 
 lieve thee honest and faithful to thy lord dnd ttraster ; 
 and since Antoinette is not fhe cause that will oppose 
 thy ibrtiihe in the wars, thbu sTiall follow me to the 
 field of glory, since thoii so desirest it — and be thy 
 
^'- 
 
 OR, MARIKTTfi )M^A;^IMJ»n OHQ 
 
 tak bf mystery sealed in silence t \ihmi hmt (ibseiii'wl 
 aome dark deed, and comn^itted by wW)i?l I Jkeifisir 
 not; and lyoti, will ; not, faaj^; dare .B<H, 4<^t ;*^Ji»f 
 
 ft. , . - ■ ^-^ ' ■ »; ,.,.•:., .':>..,■■■•'■'!;;.-■;; -r!') !:IV! *)"ii 
 
 ^^ ^ Probe me notthtts deepl}^j«aydear,e»Q^^t>^d 
 ever honoured master/ uttered I^ in th^ TpUdfest !^<Q- 
 cents of despair and terror;, ^;thou has! Indeed gue9Seii 
 rightly :— ra dark and foul deed have /lihe§e /eyeis wit- 
 nessed in thy princeiy e^tk.-^ \iat ky w^bofno^i? min- 
 ted, almighty Power, it is fc«OTO I^P tbee 4n4 tfey?Mjr 
 angels !' ,, . t 
 
 '^ ' While I was al)8eqt, <m the ni^ht of the pftPiiijjfftl 
 at Vi^^na ;' excla-laied the Loyd AlWnQ.r / x^wiv^.tm 
 this q«estiQn-r-^{ mli io«quii'e no further/ .i :nU 
 
 *' To wbiah J[ ewt^b^tie^liy pronouneed-m ..ni" 
 
 " ^ While you were ab$fe(i$,, o^ tbe night gf tfy^Ji^r 
 nival at Viienrti^, n^y gQod JfirtJ^fchat pight was a dark 
 deed coi?.imit(ted ! Iiiothingmore must reveal, till itfee 
 web of (time ftWl .di^coyer it to your knowledge, qr 
 the finger .4?^ hfi^v^n ^y^'y^t, it out tp yoiir observatix^fl. 
 It is a crime that wll imeet the punishme^ii^t of fee^yefl, 
 though it may escape fthine/ 
 
 *' 1 thought the liord AlJp-jniO struggled jto suppresS;^ji 
 involuntary, and anguished .sigh, but he tuiTied fr,opi 
 me, in order to >?i(>nee..^l i^ .fror>i my particular obse^r 
 vation ; and bidding^,eifi^riewell, he hastily withdrejjir : 
 nor did I ag^^i bqlj^i^W il?W»> JtHl within a few weeks pf 
 the fatal expedition with the allied forces, to thp plains 
 of Morna Penritch : where one of the fiercest and the 
 blpodicst battles ever ifought by contending armies, 
 decided the fate of njij^io^s. Alas ! the brave F^rnandP 
 was (the ,firS)t to fallr-5*nd ,ne3ct to him, his gallaot 
 father, the jaoble, virtuous Lord Albino ! What tor- 
 
 3 
 
400 THE MYSTBRIBS OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 rents of tears shed I over their gallant remains ! But 
 unavailing was my grief, horror, or consternation, in 
 this fearful hour of universal terror and dismay ! for 
 the din of arms, alternately mixed with groans of the 
 dying and the wounded, the neighing of horses, and the 
 sounds of victory proclaimed, even amidst it, would 
 have confused and stunned even the most undaunted 
 and courageous of all mortal men ! It was said that 
 St. Julian^ the young Bohemian general, had been 
 ultimately the cause of this defeat ; but the slanderous 
 tale was false ; for well know I, that gallant hero would 
 far more willingly haye saved the life of the father of 
 her, whom most his soul adored : but in battle all sol- 
 diers meet; whether they be friends or foes, they 
 must do their duty to their soveriegn and their country, 
 or they are no soldiers at all. 
 
 *' That I had escaped the battle's heat, but for the 
 sake of my Antoinette, I was at this dread moment per- 
 fectly indifferent ; for I had lost the leading star of all 
 my future destiny, hopes and ambition : and I should 
 have sunk into the lowest depths of utter despair, had 
 not an uplifted arm been stretched out to save me ; Sir 
 Orville Faulkner, J need not blush to own that arm 
 was the brave St. Julian's ! I was his prisoner, among 
 the many that the army under his command had taken, 
 and happy for me that the fortune of war had designed 
 me such a service ; for the youthful conqueror, unlike 
 the heroes of ancient days, who look on the captives 
 taken, as so many objects of contempt and cruelty, 
 compassionately viewed them as fallen enemies, and 
 tb<^refore treated them with tenfold marks of kindness 
 Hrt^ humanity ; and, among the number of his prison- 
 ers, I was led to the tent of St. Julian ; where, absorbed 
 
OR, MARIBTTB MOULINB. 461 
 
 in grief for the loss of my gallant lord, and his brave 
 young son, 1 sobbed out a faint repetition of their 
 names, and became insensible of all other passing 
 scenes around me; insomuch that I was removed 
 from the presence of the mighty conqueror, with the 
 rest of the prisoners, without having once bowed, or 
 bended my knees before him, or by any other outward 
 sign, manifested the least respect towards him : and it 
 was expected that on the following day I should meet 
 the punishment that so gross an omission and offence 
 deserved : but my informants, whom I did not notice by 
 any other way than by bestowing on them a smile of 
 the most abject contempt, were mistaken in the charac- 
 ter of the martial hero ; his great soul disdained such 
 jxitty acts, and was above such petty punishments as 
 'they had described : for at midnight, while alone in my 
 solitary and lonely ceil, by the pale glimmering of a 
 lamp, which emitted its feeble rays through the dark 
 gloom of my cheerless apartment — as I mused on the 
 melancholy change which only the events of one fear- 
 ful day had made in my situation, a gentle tap at the 
 door of the chamber announced a visitor, who, in as 
 gentle an accent, demanded instant admission within 
 its comfortless walls : but how little did I think. Sir 
 Orville Faulkner, who that visitor was, till 1 perceived 
 the glittering star that shone upon his breast, and the 
 plume of black feathers that decorated his martial broAV, 
 over a forehead smooth and white as monumental ala- 
 baster ; in a voice of sweet complacency and most com- 
 passionate kindness he demanded to know my name, 
 and my rank in the army of the Lord Albino, and whe- 
 ther I had been long in his service, or knew aught of 
 the Lady Riargaret, or — There the great hero pnused 
 
^^2 T»-fl''wVfel1?Ri«S OF ST. cjlair: 
 
 and s^ghfc<l <leef>ty i atid J boc^ pevceivfed that it was 
 St • 'J UHaiii'-^he great, renowned St. JuUan 1 who had 
 t^HS 'doikJ€^en<5^d 1o visit, in the lonely hour^f mid- 
 JiiightjH captive soldier; and throwing myself at his 
 feet^ ^I implot^d his pardon and forgiveness, for the 
 disi^espexjtftjl eoii<ia€5t I had observed on a former oc- 
 casion* ' 
 
 "^^ To which he replied, * I do not consider offences in 
 that light, as' meriting either punishment or requiring 
 a^logy. I want no such mark of humility used to- 
 •#ards wie, who am, in myself, humble and diffident of 
 offending others. It was natural for you to love the 
 ttyaster whom ytm iserved with such faithful zeal and 
 loyalty; anti it was equally natural for you to abhor 
 the presence of a man whom you considered as hLs 
 enemyj and who had defeated his army; therefore to 
 me no apology is due : hut for the enemy of Albino, or 
 his brave young son, who has fallen in the battle's heat, 
 believe me, soldier, I am none such ; for could I have 
 saved Albino or his son, I would have sacrificed the 
 dearest drop in a soldier's veins. He fell not by my 
 means t let not this slanderous tale be ever told — That 
 St. Julia*! oecasiotaed the defeat of the brave Albino. 
 I Was mounted, at the head of my soldiery, in a far 
 distant sceneof action, when the news reached me that 
 the Lord Alb^ino ai>d the 5'HttHng Fernando both had 
 fallen : and ontlu? iiwi<t)ant 1 ;flcw to ascertain the fact. 
 Alas ! t'he tidings were tfoo (true! for mine eyes beheld 
 the gailawt slwin loncestf etched on the ensanguined 
 [)laii}s o^' Moriia Poniitchd 1 cowMBanded the bodies 
 of 'the'bpfvvG wanioTsJJocbe borne to my tent, and every 
 •due respect ipsiid by>nBy fioidiens to the memory of the 
 •dqwirtcd iueroes^ >while with kind care I staunched 
 
OR, MARlETTfi MOULINE.^^* ^ 463 
 
 their bleeding wounds, and administered every cordial 
 medicine that could be devised by my surgeons to 
 soothe the anguished pangs of parting life; nor left 
 I tliie tont a wiowient while one vital spark remained. 
 Methoughtj as I be»4 6yer> the <Jouch where they had 
 MA Albin%wh*ch I had watered with many a briny 
 tear, that a sigh was heaved, 5n deep convulsive groans, 
 from hil8 ^xpii^ bJciastj and gently did I stoop 
 fiiine edv^o hispai&ttnd quivering*Kps : by the immor- 
 tal gods* Albino toe w me! and faintly mui^mured out 
 the name ^f St.Julmn. Bagei^ly I clasped within fny 
 own his haft^j 'boM with the icy chill of death : and 
 while torrents Jof team fell over the pak^heek which I 
 contempla^tedmlJh heart-felt ^iefy thrioe caflledlie io» 
 
 StW Juli^ltt flgmn* ^' ■ '".nlT .-.;; )f<}in ou' I; r/.'ij i,-. 
 
 •^^♦^'raij^ his gaMaBt head on tfee <)©<udi >they bad 
 iliadfe ^© ««f)port his ex^ ring form ; a<rid, by an elfo»t 
 df almost supernatural strength, ^ lowi, ibr^j^ken, and 
 fallerlng accents he 'tfhMgs ttdditeesed me^o-i > j tub nv. 1 1 . 
 o«i<'< St. J^i^ian, I Imve wiWDingfed the',o,)ftjrbi^air€itho\iia»£, 
 afe 'gcb^rous ! Had I ccra iJseH^d widh >thee -as a friend, 
 efrx4i^ot9. foe^this day i^had not faJllena ««> the plains of 
 Morna'Penritch.- ;No waitter, rtieistoiittaisipastJr.I die 
 a "soldier's death, mthp»rdpn to th&»e who ^awe so 
 treacherously betrayed me to this 'inglorious fight: but,; 
 cfbt I grieve that my brave ^iMJy has fallen Jn lail his 
 pride etfyoUtliful grace and beauty>l ^'Twias akiaad boy, 
 a«d he {Iwed his father ! St.iluHanj one word morn, 
 while 1 h&ve mortal life within ime;: imywounck bleed 
 atfresh, and I cannot dong 8wrvia?Eitbisfibat[fceFed bodyij: 
 I have a daughter — tboutloveart hwi-r- u v* 
 
 ** * As my soul and life'!' ©(ttered J, in ftran tic accents 
 df wild despair 5 for what would not i now have 
 
464 
 
 glyen^o , hjive; restored the spring of life to the ex- 
 pjriijg Albino^, . . 
 
 '* ^ I doubted it not/ faintly resumed he, * and my Au- 
 gustina ioveth thee. Win her, and wear her : with a 
 falser 's dying breatli I bequeath her to thee ; for thou 
 wert ever worthy of her, though foul tongues went 
 abroad to slander thy fair fame. St. Julian, to Augus- 
 tina repeat the words of her dying father, and let not 
 hm .stern mother forbid your ehaste and honourable 
 loves. Tell my daughter that I gave her to St. Ju- 
 liai?*3 arms, while dying, on the plains of Morna Pen- 
 ititch.: <'For the Lady Margaret, St. Julian, I do be- 
 lieve she hath been a treacherous wife; and for the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, I have a shrewd suspicion that he 
 hath played me falsely. Thou understandest me ? Let 
 not my daughter be persuaded of the holy traitor. 
 Haste thee to my castle, and protect my daughter : if 
 you are forbidden to enter, storm its walls, and hurl 
 down the confessor from his ill-gotten throne of splen- 
 dour, and of mockery and pomp. For Margaret, spare 
 her not, till she hath confessed her wrongs to an injured 
 lord, who, dying now, can scarcely forgive the stale 
 she hath brought upon his memory. Among your 
 prisoners there is a gallant youth, whom much 1 loved, 
 for he was an orphan boy, and I protected him and 
 brought him to the wars. He is called Ferdinand : 
 seek him out from the number of your captives, and, 
 for the sake of Albino, treat him kindly. So 
 farewell, St. Julian ; and may peace, and bliss, and 
 smiling victory, and the blessing of a dying warrior be 
 with you now and for evermore V 
 
 '* * Thus spoke, and thus died, the great and virtuous 
 Lord Albino,' uttered St. Julian, heav'mg u mournful 
 
OR^ MARIBTTB MOULINS* 465 
 
 sigh, but by the immortal powers that rale the high 
 and vaulted heavens, so, will not perish the wrongs 
 and injuries of this naost virtuous gallant man ! Tell 
 me now thy name, and whether thou be the youth he ' 
 commended to my charge. Art thou the follower of 
 jtbe brave Albino, to the plains of Morna Penritch, and 
 is thy name Ferdinand ?f|iir^ )^;: 
 ^iv" ^The same, gallant chief,' uttered I, bending my 
 
 Jknee before him, and now the humblest, and will be 
 the most devoted of your slaves !' 
 
 ,^, " * And dost thou know the Cardinal Benvolio,* ex- 
 t^laimed he, * that same treacherous and crafty vil- 
 lain whom I suspect to be the wily serpent who hath 
 
 : yndermiued the happiness of the virtuous Albino ? 
 knowest thou ought of this dark tale, or art thou bound 
 
 , to^ecresy?* 
 
 j" Sir Orville Faulkner, f was not bound To secresy 
 as well thou knowest : for my dear lord's peace no 
 longer proved the barrier for my divulging the guilt 
 qf the perfidious monsters who only awaited my return 
 ftom battle to sign njy death-warrant ; and fully to 
 St. Julian did I impart the measure of their guilt, and 
 
 ^ ijrhat was their murderous design, the moment that I 
 
 ! .^Jiould again enter the battlements of St. Clair' — 
 
 ' ;r»>iftf?At which the gallant hero, confounded by such 
 atrocious villainy, exclaimed — 
 
 " * And can such perfidious monstei*s expect much 
 longer to hide such gross and glaring infamy ? Can 
 
 xsthey hope to escape the avenging rod of all-offended 
 Heaven ? Oh ! my Augustina, and canst thou be safe 
 tvithin that^foul sanctuary which thy mother hath de- 
 filed, or a false dissembling priest, filled with his 
 abominable crimes of lust, rapine, and even murder? 
 4' 20 3 N 
 
466 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR; 
 
 No, Ferdinand, I tremble every hour that I am ab- 
 sent from the dear idol of my fond affections, lest she 
 be endangered by the foul contagion that the very air 
 must breathe of, where her perfidious mother doth in- 
 habit; and quickly will I snatch her hence, though 
 bars of adamantine steel, or consuming flames of fire, 
 fierce as Etna's burning gulph, opposed or devoured 
 me by their fury. Ferdinand, you must now follow the 
 fortunes of St. Julian-— another battle must succeed to 
 this, more furious than even that thine eyes hath wit- 
 nessed on the plains of Morna Penritch. Art thou 
 ready to wield thy sword in my service, or tamely 
 wilt thou return to the towers of St. Glair, and there 
 be butchered by a murderous priest and demoniac 
 woman/ 
 " M have a young wife, my great lord,' uttered I, 
 
 * whom sorrowing I left behind me, perchance, she 
 may believe that I have fallen on the fatal plains of 
 Morna Penritch with my gallant masters, and the sad 
 tale would wring the gentle heart of Antoinette so 
 deeply, that I should grieve to wound her thus without 
 a cause. She is the attendant of the lovely daughter 
 of my honoured lord, and most truly doth she love the 
 fair Bohemian lady ; as. truly as she loveth her !* 
 
 • " ' And how long hast thou been united in the bands 
 of wedlock to the maiden of thy choice,' inquired 
 St. Julian, suppressing a struggling sigh. 
 
 ** * Scarcely bath ten moons swiiled upon our loves, 
 my good lord,' answered I, * an4 love to her, and duty 
 to my illustrious patron hath cost me many sighs, ere 
 I consented to go to the wars — yet duty conquered, 
 and love was. lieft to mourn. ^ — Now, my good lord, one 
 smaU boon I crave.* 
 
OR, MARIETI'B MOULINBi 467 
 
 '* « It shall not be denied/ afadWeted St Julian* 
 
 " * Once to the Castle of St. Clair let me go to finntch 
 dne hasty glance at Antbinettfe, bid h^t fai*eWell, and 
 invoke a piayer on her btsaiitfedtli he^d. Then trill I 
 l-eturn, and follow thfe fortunes of the brare Sti Jttliah/ 
 
 " « Should I reject so fond and natural ft Wish I were 
 a savage monster/ cried he. * Yet how wilt thou 
 find access to the battlemfents of St. Clair^ beaHng as 
 ynn must do» the arms of St. JnliaW j iti a Boh^miah 
 officer, you wbuld be tak^n pHsoher, erm heioie yon 
 t^achefd the borders of St. Clair.' 
 
 "^I will assume the disguise of a Jew pedlar/ an- 
 swered I, 'sd {)lfc«seyiyft^ my lordj 6nifer flifi td gdj I 
 will not tari-y long.' 
 
 *^* And wilt then itl thid d)4g»is6 be p6rinilt«l fCr tt^ 
 proach thy wife,' inip^tiehtly demanded St. Jnliaiij 
 
 ^' ' Ther^ is nothing more easy,' ctied I. * Thfe set- 
 tendants in the ca>^tle are never watchful of strangers, 
 but when they are habited in the military dostume/ 
 
 ** • And wPtt ehou in this disguise be the beared df a 
 message to my Aogustina, good Ferdinand V exclaim- 
 ed St. Julian, * a ring, too, shall thou carry, the token 
 of a precious Jdve, given in maiden modesty, when 
 last we parted at the foot of the holy shrine ; in the 
 battle's heat, sweet maiden, I cried, I wilt remembei* 
 this precious ring, and wear it next my heart ! — aind 
 then gave I another, engraven with my name upon it, 
 with * fidelity' in golden letters : this must thou bring 
 me, and I will give thee mine, with fond remembrance 
 of our treasured love. Seeing the ring, she will not 
 doubt that you have authority from me to bear it hence, 
 and will perchance return an answer to the billet that 
 1 send her. See that thou discharge this trust faith- 
 
468. THE MYSIKRIKS OF ST. CLAHl ; 
 
 fully, and at thy return doubt not the gratitude of St. 
 Julian.* 
 
 " ^ Oh, my good lord, could I fail in this/ answered 
 J, *no more admit me to thy presence — but hang me 
 like a vile traitor, on one of the high trees that skirts 
 yon mountain forest.' 
 
 " * At the first break of the roseate morning thou 
 must depart from Morna Penritch,' uttered St. Julian, 
 * in the meanwhile I will get ready thy credentials, and 
 give thee money and necessaries, to bear thee on thy 
 journey to St. Clair : — Farewell, Ferdinand — I must 
 away to my tent, I do not think it politic to be seen 
 talking with thee by the soldiery, or the guards ap- 
 pointed to watch the prisoners of war. There is jea- 
 lousy even in a camp, young soldier, and envy, like a 
 withered hag, sits scowling with malignant eye, and hag- 
 gard mien, to watch the prey she has singled out for her 
 victim ; even so the foul canker-worm creeps to the 
 bosom of the young rose, to crush its bud of beauty ; 
 and the sly insidious spider, in its web, to dart on the 
 innocent fly, who approaches her dread abode only to 
 perish in its baneful snare 1 it is now past the hour of 
 midnight's fearful gloom — when morning breaks forth 
 in the azure sky, speed thee to my tent, and I will 
 forthwith give thee further instructions — farewell.* 
 
 " Oil these words the godlike hero departed, and left 
 me charmed witl^ the nobleness of character he had 
 displaced towards me; and overwhelmed with the 
 deepest sense of gratitude, at the kind interest he took 
 in my fate. 1, therefore, determined to be guided by 
 honour and rectitude in every action of my future life, 
 towards a man so generous, and so strictly just in his 
 dealings to mankind ; and with these reflections closed 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULIN E. 469 
 
 my eyes in the most gentle and refreshing slumbers, 
 with thanks to the divine Author of all good and boun- 
 teous gifts, that having deprived me of the protection 
 of one illustrious patron — had already given me ano- 
 ther, noble, renowned in arms, and victorious, and 
 still more highly gifted with the power to do me ser- 
 vice : and, greatly refreshed by sleep, I arose on the 
 first light of the morning, waiting in anxious expec- 
 tation of receiving a summons from the officer of the 
 guard, to attend the presence of my commander, nor 
 waited I long in vain for that dearly cherished hope. 
 A knock at the door soon informed me that I had a vi- 
 sitor, and that St. Julian had not forgotten me ! for 
 a soldier, habited in the Austrian costume, ifa a low 
 voice, bade me follow him ; and, in a few minutes, 
 I was once more in the presence of my illustrious lord ! 
 He had every thing prepared in a small sealed packet 
 that laid upon his private cabinet,, and the soldier 
 having immediately retired, he demanded to know in 
 what manner I should obtain the disguise of b. Jew 
 pedlar, and whether I was otherwise prepared for the 
 long journey ! was about to take, and St. Julian smiled 
 with that beneficent sweetness which always animated 
 his noble and intelligent countenance. 
 
 " * I have a shrewd guess, Ferdinand,* uttered he, 
 * that your coffers are not very abundantly supplied 
 either with gold or silver. Gold, indeed, seldom grows 
 upon a soldier's laurels.' Cn which the generous and 
 exalted man presented me with a purse, more than 
 sufficient to supply my wants, and, on expressing my 
 fervent sense of his goodness, he exclaimed — 
 
 <* *• Thanks I require not, and will not receive them j 
 let every man, while he can, discharge the duties of 
 
470 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR? j 
 
 humanity, and Heaveti will repay him, evert ^vhdn riian 
 forgets the benefits he has received at his hands.* 
 
 ** Beneath the folds of my vest I carefully deposited 
 the precious packet with which I was so sacredly in- 
 trusted, and not without tears departed from the pre- 
 sence of my hobfe patron. I informed him that at a 
 neighbouring hamlet I could, without ranch difficulty, 
 purchase the disguise that would be necessary for the 
 purpose I designed : previous to which I wotild wear 
 It lal-ge surtoiit, which would completely conceal my 
 fllilitary dress.' 
 
 '' ^Thou hast acted Vd&ely, Ferdiii^ndf,' Utfetlecl St. 
 Jtllian, ^ and now Heavetl speed thee on thy Way to 
 the hated towers of S^. Clair, once the haven of* all 
 earthly happiness, but now more detested, frofti the 
 foul beings that inhabit it, than language can express. 
 Alas ! that angel AugUstina still sleeps W^ithiii (now) 
 its impure and contaminated Walls ! — Ferdinand, soon 
 Will they fall and mingle with the dust : for I Will storm 
 the castle, ere long— with the fiercest vengeance on 
 Albino's foes. The haughty Margaret will I make my 
 prisoner ; and (he perfidious Cardinal, that mocker — 
 that vile profaner of all religion^s laws, shall meet the 
 fate his crimes deserve \ by the immortal gods, I 
 would not sprare the crafty priest, though that angel 
 Whoiii my soul' ad(?res, were Sueing at my feet to sign 
 his pardon ! Ej^ecrable monster of depravity ! to stain 
 ihe hallowed roof 6f the august patron who had given 
 him a shelter bttteath it 5 like the serpent of old, came 
 he not forth to deal destruction to all within his grasp ? 
 and found he not a fit instrument for his deadly pur- 
 p(f9^^ti WCdk, ttiiri, credulous, ambitious, haughty, 
 ^dretiVc, cruet, and lustful woman ?— in the perfidi- 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINE. 471 
 
 ous character of Margaret beheld he not all that he re- 
 quired^ to aid him in his invidious and treacherous de- 
 signs, against his lord and master ? Trust me, Fer^ 
 dinand, no greater devil presides on earth, than a base, 
 evil-minded woman ; but of this no more. I shall be 
 calm apon ! and will not send thee away with gloomy 
 presages of approaching terror 5 go and refresh thee 
 with the soldiery ; observe silence, and they will respect 
 thee — then, Ferdinand, depart in peace, so that in 
 peace and safety thou mayest return again. For the 
 Cardinal, avoid him-^far the Lady Margaret, venture 
 not in her presence— and, if there Ue ^ny danger of 
 detection, preserve thy life in time, and, if thou canst 
 bear thy wife from the ha,ted toweiiS of St. Ciair-^ 
 leave we tp 40. t\\^ j:est, i so ^ve thee, Ferdinand, fare- 
 
 " Qn this I^epi^rted, bu,ti pi^eferied far better to jour- 
 ney pn, than to returi?i to tlie guard-room to partake of 
 such refreshments, as iny lord had desired. Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, the man who has once been deprived of 
 liberty, knows how to value its blessings^ when he 
 finds he is free. Liberty is the sweetest privilege of 
 human nature, robbed of which, though hea^Uh ajad 
 fortune crown the banquet, it is still embittered with 
 a thorn 1^ — for liberty is a mountain child ! it is born 
 in the air, and owes its finest breath to the native 
 skies. Poverty, with all the chilling storms th^t, 
 blow over its defenceless head, hath yet no influence 
 over its free-born soul-— and the very i^oment that I 
 again tasted of it, I began to, contemplate its blessings ; 
 and I felt a repugnance unconquerable to return to 
 the guard-room, to be considered in the light of a pri- 
 soner y although I knew that I had my credentials in 
 
472 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR J 
 
 my pocket that could command me to be set at liberty, 
 from authority they dared not dispute ; yet I was un- 
 willing to expose me to the animadversions of the 
 soldiere, and tliirefore immediately proceeded On my 
 journey to the Castle of St. Clair— only halting at the 
 rieighbouring village to procure the disguise that was 
 necessary, and to take some little refreshment. A Jew, 
 with whom I drank a glass of sherbet, at a cafee, and 
 with whom I entered into some familiar conversation, 
 very gladly offered me the purchase that I wanted, 
 and without any questions about my requiring such sin- 
 gular articles for immediate use. The Jew looked to 
 nothing but the money that 1 had paid for them, which 
 being exorbitant to a degree, he went away from the 
 cafee fully satisfied with the bargain he had made with 
 — what he imagined me to be — a credulous traveller, 
 *• I had purchased of the Jew, in addition to the sur- 
 tbiit, a grey cassock and vest, with large pantaloons 
 of the same colour ; red stockings ; leathern belt ; and 
 black slouched hat, with a single black feather placed 
 in the front of it ; besides a red-haired wig, and a 
 huge pair of red mustachios ; in which, when I was 
 completely arrayed, so transformed ine from any thing 
 to what I was, and so entirely disguised my features 
 and former shape, that it was impossible to resist 
 laughing at my altered appearance ; and in this arrny, 
 I set forward on my journey to St. Clair, meeting with 
 no impediment on my way, till I arrived within five miles 
 of the battlements, which were so closely guarded, that 
 I had much difficulty in persuading one of the sentinels to 
 admit me and my pack to pass on to the iiiterior of the 
 castle, in order to dispose of some of my merchandize. 
 <« < Why, lord love you, you will get nothing there/ 
 
. >'i OR, MARIETTE MOULlNE. 457 
 
 cried the soldier, whom I had presented with a few ar- 
 ticles of my shining ware,, * but crabbed faces, crook- 
 ed words, and empty purses. There's a mort of dif- 
 ference, now that my lord is no longer the representa- 
 tive of the castlci of St. Clair, I promise you. There 's 
 nothing given away now, but what the cardinal chooses, 
 and, by St. Peter, that is little enough, in all consci- 
 ence : it would not keep a rat alive, if it were starv- 
 ing to death. No : it's another guess sort of a things 
 now, I can assure you ; and the castle of St. Clair is no 
 more like what it was, than a church- steeple is to a 
 gate-post.' 
 
 I thought the loquacity of this fellow more intolera- 
 ble than the silence he had preserved before : and b6- 
 gan to think, after all my efforts to wheedle him into 
 good humour, that my stratagems would not succeed ; 
 but, luckily for me, I had a bottle of sherbet in my 
 pocket, which I had procured at the caf6e, while con- 
 versing with the jew, which I now presented to the 
 centinel, and which had a very potent influence 
 on his feelings : money, 1 knew, would have been 
 very impolitic to have given him, not being very 
 consistent with the character that I was personating ; 
 and at length, his heart being completely warmed by 
 the invigorating effects of the sherbet, he permitted me 
 to pass the ramparts, and from thence to the interior 
 part of the castle, where, as a jew pedlar, I found a 
 very ready welcome, disposing of various articles of my 
 merchandize, which was purchased with avidity by 
 some of the females, who weVe so pleased with their 
 bargains, that they treateil me with every mark of civi- 
 lity and hospitality that could be imaglped ; and 1 con- 
 trived to wliile away .the time, till the sliailcs ol even- 
 21 3o 
 
458 
 
 ing imperceptibly advancing, they offered me a night's 
 lodging in the castle, provided I would depart at day- 
 break, before any of the family were stirring. ' For/ 
 continued they, winking at each other in the most sig- 
 nificant manner, ' we are all under cardinal govern- 
 ment here, now he is at the top of the tree, though 
 many wished him at the bottom of it, before our dear 
 master went to the wars.' 
 
 * Likely, likely,' answered I; but 1 uttered no more, 
 for I was aware that it was dangerous to make the 
 Cardinal Ben volio a subject of discourse, fearful that 
 there might be some of the domestics that would act 
 with treachery to one another, and would not care to 
 report it to the ears of the cardinal at some seasonable 
 opportunity ; certainly, nothing could be more favour- 
 able to my plans, than the invitation they had given 
 me: and I instantly availed myself of it, with the in- 
 tention of stealing to the gardens of the pagoda oppo- 
 site to which were the apartments of the Lady Augus- 
 tina and Antoinette ; and there I determined to sta- 
 tion myself, till by some lucky chance, I should attract 
 their observation ; I recollect that every evening, the 
 Lady Augustina went forth to inlmle the balmy breezes 
 of the air, in the gardens of the pagoda, and that both 
 her and Antoinette conversed for a considerable time, in 
 the bower of roses, well knowing that they would be 
 watched in any other part of the castle, by the emissa- 
 ries of the Lady Margaret. 
 
 Accordingly, when I was conducted to the little 
 chamber which they had prepared for me, I took an 
 opportunity of depositing the key in my pocket, which 
 I contrived to do in the easiest manner that was pos- 
 sible, Petro, which was the attendant who was desired 
 
OR, MARlEtTE MOtLINB. 459 
 
 to shew me to the chamber where I was to sleep, being 
 nearly drunken with the wine (of which there was no 
 scarcity) while we sat supper, which consisted of 
 some excellent venison and other dainties, which, they 
 informed me, had come from the private larder of the 
 cardinal, part of which he had that day feasted off; and 
 they laughed heartily, remarking, that he was fonder 
 of the good things in the larder, than the good things 
 of the church, and that he loved better to eat venison 
 and drink wine with the Lady Margaret Albino, than 
 preaching a sermon in the pulpit I' 
 
 To these remarks, I answered not a word, though 
 I could freely have laughed at them at any other time. 
 I was not much inclined to indulge in mirth, however, 
 at the present moment, for I perceived with regret, 
 that the loss of my dear and honoured master had pro- 
 duced no very general appearance bf' lamentation, 
 even in the very vassals to whom he had been so kind 
 and indulgent a master, and that the castle of St. Clair 
 was become a scene of drunken revelry, boisterous 
 mirth, and riotous dissipation ! '^[ 
 
 With respect to the cardinal, 1 knew that he was al 
 most abandoned hypocrite, and that his humility was 
 only feigned to controul others, an artifice of pride, 
 which humbled itself to be exalte<l, for pride is neveir* 
 better disguised and more capable to deceive than 
 when under the semblance of humility : but in afflic- 
 tions there are various hypocrisies ; sometimes, in 
 bewailing the loss of a person dear to us, we weep the 
 loss of wealth, pleasure, and consideration ; some- 
 times we regret the source of approbation we have 
 lost ; thus, even the dead have the honour of the tears 
 which flow for the living. This is a sort of hypocrisy 
 
4C|P THE ||[yS^pB.lES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 io wjiich we, always deceive ourselves. But there is 
 another hypocrisy not so innocent, because it is put 
 on ; it is that which aspires to the glory of an immor- 
 tal grief, after time, which destroys all things, has 
 consumed their real grief. They persist in their tears, 
 their wailings, and their sighs : they preserve a dole- 
 ful countenance, and endeavour to persuade, by their 
 actions, that their wretchedness will only end with 
 their Jlives^ .This sad and tiresome vanity is usually 
 seen with ambitious, proud, haughty, and unfeeling 
 women, such as the Lady Margaret Albino. As their 
 sex bars the usual roads to glory, they seek celebrity 
 by an uncontrolable affliction. Their's are tears whose 
 shallow sources quickly flow and as readily cease ! 
 We weep for the reputation of being thought tender ; 
 we weep to be pitied, we weep to be wept for, and we 
 weep to avoid the shame of not weeping. 
 
 These were my reflections, as stationed in my little 
 chamber, I closely watched the progress of the moon 
 trom behind a cloud, determined, that by her beaute- 
 ous silvery light I would, as soon as the castle reposed 
 in silence, steal along the corridor, at the end of 
 which I knew there was a private door seldom kept 
 l^<;ked, through which I could easily make my escape 
 to the gardens of the pagoda, and so I did ; where, 
 quickly concealing myself among the trees that were 
 opposite to the windows of the Lady Augustina's 
 apartments, I could obtain a full view of the objects, 
 and all that were passing within them ; and I had not 
 been there many moments before my heart palpitated 
 with a tumult of the most rapturous sensations I ever 
 experienced in my whole life ; for both the Lady 
 
 niyii ^dJ-jol wolif ii)nf- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINt:. 461 
 
 Augustina and my Antoinette appeared at the lattice 
 of the window, under which there was a beautiful 
 larkennet in a golden cage^ suspended on a branch of 
 an Arcacia tree, which being full in blossom, diffused 
 its balmy fragrance through the air, and the sweet bird, 
 as if delighted at the approach of its lovely mistress, 
 began to pour forth a strain of the most enchanting 
 melody. Methought, as I caught but a transient 
 glance of the face of my Antoinette, that she looked 
 pale and spiritless, and a very visible alteration had 
 taken place in her beautiful figure since even my short 
 absence from the battlements of St. Clair ; and how 
 eagerly did I long to approach her, and tell her that 
 her Ferdinand was returned in safety from the plains 
 of Morna Penritch, and was now in the service of the 
 Bohemian conqueror, — the brave St. Julian ! but this 
 it was not possible for me to do while I remained in 
 my place of concealment : from whence, if 1 attempted 
 to sally forth, I should have completely frustrated the 
 accomplishment of all ray hopes and wishes ; for at 
 the very first glance of my singular appearance, they 
 would have screamed with terror and affright, and I 
 should instantly be surrounded by the guards, my per- 
 son discovered, my plans betrayed, and exposed to dis- 
 grace and to punishment, for the daring offence 1 had 
 committed. This apprehension alone withheld me 
 from darting forward, and throwing myself in the arms 
 of my beloved wife. 
 
 At length, the wished-for transporting moment ar- 
 rived J the lattice was softly closed, and presently I 
 heard their light feet descending the flight oF steps 
 which led to the entrance of the gardens of the pagoda : 
 
462 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 they approached cautiously and slowly ; — the bower of 
 roses was on the left, and they had descended from the 
 right, — they must, perforce, pass the shrubbery, within 
 whose deep shades I was concealed : they could arrive 
 no other way to the bower of roses, which they had 
 chosen for the place of their retreat. 
 
 Gods ! what were my emotions, when some of the 
 straggling branches of the trees caught the black-flow- 
 ing veil, which concealed the lovely face of my Antoi- 
 nette ? and in the effort she made to disentangle it, 
 she caught a glance of me I an involuntary, but faint, 
 seream of terror escaped her : when, in a low and tre- 
 mulous accent, I pronounced, — ' Ferdinand ! thine 
 own faithful Ferdinand ! — let not this disguise alarm 
 the timid fears of my gentle Antoinette, or excite ter- 
 ror in the fair bosom of her illustrious mistress, since 
 necessity alone induced me to adopt it as the only 
 means, by which I could expect the happiness of be- 
 holding you again. Be not thus alarmed, then, dear- 
 est,— but let me instantly confer with you and the Lady 
 Augustina Albino, on matters of the highest import. I 
 am charged with a sacred trust, which I must herewith 
 deposit in her own hands : — it must be delivered, — .the 
 moments are precious! I must see the Lady Augus- 
 tina 1 tell her I come from the plains of Morna Pen- 
 ritch, and that I bear a precious relic, even now, about 
 my person, — that I tremble lest it may be taken from 
 me, and I accused of treachery to a most noble and il- 
 lustrious patron, St. Julian ! no less a patron, than the 
 Bohemian conqueror ! the brightest and most godlike 
 hero, that ever shone in arms.' 
 
 The Lady Augustiia had proceeded a few paces be-i^ 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 463 
 
 fore her attendant, and was surprised that she had 
 not followed her. She turned towards the entrance of 
 the gardens of the pagoda, an4 there discovered her 
 attendant conversing with an entire stranger, and one 
 too of so extraordinary an appearance, that surprise 
 and astonishment were alternately blended in each 
 lovely feature of the fair Bohemian lady. I flew to- 
 wards her ; I threw myself prostrate at her feet : I im- 
 plored her to pardon ;uy intrusion, and an explanation 
 immediately ensued which cleared up all doubts of my 
 not having discharged ray duty faithfully to ray mas- 
 ter. The deep crimson blush which mounted the 
 face of the Bohemian maid, when I presented to her 
 St. Julian's packet, and opening it in ray presence, 
 the ring with ' fidelity' engraved on it met her view, 
 was beautiful and impressive ; and never will her 
 words and actions be erased from my memory, — pale 
 was that lovely cheek, not yet dried from the tears 
 which she had shed for her honoured father and her 
 young brother, so recently slain in battle ; and the 
 rancorous, foul, malicious report had already reached 
 her ears, that St. Julian was the man who had led and 
 spirited up the forces against him : — but did the great 
 Albino's daughter believe a tale so false against the 
 man who loved her? Can love, true love, be unjust to 
 the shrine that it adores? No! it cannot be so, where 
 love is only hallowed, and pure, and holy as the chaste 
 loves of St. Julian and Augustina. She knew the 
 great hero better than to believe he ever could i\rong 
 her father. Yet the slanderous tale was breathed into 
 her ear both night and morning that St. Julian was 
 the man who laid her father and her young brother in 
 
464 
 
 the mouldering dust. But by whom was this slander- 
 ous tale repoi'ted to her ear ? By the poisonous breath 
 of two foul:^erpents, whose sole delight consisted in 
 making th# virtuous and the meritorious miserable, 
 because they themselves were so, from the conscious- 
 ness of secret guilt and foul misdeeds of mysterious 
 villainy. 
 
 Vice, that enemy to virtue^ cannot inhabit the same 
 pure hallowed shrine. Although the former often 
 assumes its lovely and bewitching semblance, it can- 
 not long retain its beauteous form. The mask, how- 
 ever preserved with caution and circumspection, will, 
 at one time or other, drop from the hideous monster, 
 and its whole deformity be seen, without a shadow to 
 conceal its no longer imposing appearance. But 
 when the Lady Margaret hastened to her daughter's 
 apartment to unfold this slanderous tale of infamy, she 
 found her dissolved in speechless grief, and unable to 
 defend herself against the bitter reproaches with which 
 she so cruelly loaded her, in accusing her of having 
 bestowed her heart on the murderer of her father and 
 her brother — St. Julian. 
 
 At which the tears of the lovely maiden flowed 
 afresh ! it was not enough that she mourned her father 
 slain, and her dear brother lost ; but it was an aggra- 
 vation to her miseries to be told, and by her mother, 
 that the only man her virgin heart had ever yielded to 
 in maiden truth and maiden honour, and that, in spite 
 of the rancorous tale, (which she abhorred to hear) 
 that still she loved most dearly, had led her father 
 and her brother to a soldier's grave, and after the first 
 sentence pronounced by her mother, she exclaimed, 
 
OR, MARIETTE MQULINE. 465 
 
 * Do not, I implore you, my lady mpther, proffer 
 this foul charge against St. Julian : he could not act 
 thus treacherously and perfidiously •,' — I am certain 
 that St. Julian could never be the instrument of my 
 dear father's fall, or cause the death of my young 
 brother. He was too much attached to the great 
 cause, which alone animates the breast of a martial 
 hero — humanity ! Accuse him not, then, of being the 
 murderer of my great father ; *tis false, as heaven 
 itself is true ! I'll not believe the slanderous tale 1' 
 
 ' And have you the audacity to dispute the high au- 
 thority from whence I derived the intelligence ?' cried 
 Lady Margaret : ' Can you presume to question the 
 veracity of that holy, pious, virtuous man, Benvolio, 
 who utters nought but sacred truth : and, in the words 
 of the inspired bard,^ — ^ truths come mended from his 
 tongue* ?* 
 
 ' Mended ! marred, you mean, my lady mother,* 
 cried Augustina, indignantly ; * for if he has slandered 
 the fair unspotted fame of the virtuous St. Julian, then 
 will I pronounce him false !* 
 
 *■ Arrogant, presuming, and insolent girl!' cried 
 Lady Margaret, her eyes flashing fire as she spoke ; 
 * soon shall you be taught to repent of this unseeming, 
 and let me add, unmaidenly conduct, to one who 
 scorns the irony of your tongue. But do I not know 
 the cause ? doth not thy young forwaed heart doat on 
 St. Julian ? did you not love him, in opposition to 
 your father's stern commands, ere you had scarcely 
 learned what woman's love can be to man ? did not 
 your burning cheek proclaim the secret flame, and 
 your eyes confess that he was the idol of your virgin 
 bosom ? Tell me, thou perverse one, did you not 
 21 3p 
 
 m^^ 
 
466 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. ClAIR ; 
 
 breathe the name of St. Julian, e'en in the silence of 
 the midnight hour 5 and when your feverish dreams 
 awakened you from love's rosy slumbers ? have not 
 crimson blushes dyed your virgin cheek, when in con- 
 fused accents, hardly yet awake, you have whispered 
 the name you loved, and cried, — St. Julian ! oh, St. 
 Julian ! why does ray father banish you from me, why 
 does my mother frown on our faithful loves ? — Look at 
 me, Augustina, and tell me if I have pronounced this 
 falsely. You still doat on this same St. JuliaU;, and 
 still would marry him, did not my stern command for- 
 bid the sacrilegious rites. Yes, my child would be- 
 stow her hand where already she hath bestowed her 
 affections, her virgin heart, — on the murderer of her 
 father !' 
 
 ' Forbid it, Heaven ! if, indeed, St. Julian is such as 
 you have called him, my lady mother !' cried the 
 frantic, agitated maid, now half subdued, and half re- 
 luctant to own she could give credit to a report so in- 
 jurious to St. Julian's honour ; I ne'er could wed the 
 man that wronged my father I give [me but proof that 
 St. Julian has done so, — and — and— and— ' Tears, 
 the most heart-galling and the bitterest that the Bohe- 
 mian maid ever shed, m)w stained that lovely cheek, 
 purer and whiter than Alpine snows, ere the sunny 
 ray had dissolved them, and fell on her snowy neck, 
 but partly concealed by her luxuriant auburn tresses, 
 and her sentence remained unfinished. But soon did 
 the Argus-eyes of the Lady Margaret perceive the 
 struggles of her lovely child 'twixt love and duty ; and 
 soon was that pause filled up which love had made : — 
 it was the lucky moment when sensibility and weak- 
 ness alternately possessed the lovely, virtuous maid ; 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 467 
 
 and instantly assuaiing a tone of the greatest softness 
 and complacency, she exclaimed, — 
 
 ' And what wouldst thou do, my Augustina, shouldst 
 thou, indeed, believe that St. Julian played thy father 
 and thy young brother falsely ?' 
 
 To which, the sobbing girl immediately replied, — 
 
 ' If, indeed, that tale were true, ir?y lady mother, I 
 would renounce the holy and the chaste love I bear St. 
 Julian, for ever !' 
 
 ' For ever 1' repeated the Lady Margaret, in an aw- 
 fully prophetic tone, the more calculated to impress on 
 her innocent child, theforboding presage of the apostate 
 vows of the man, and the only man, her heart had ever 
 loved. 
 
 * Yes, for ever would I renounce St. Julian, if 
 he has thus proved himself a traitor to my father,' 
 cried Augustina, at that moment forgetting all but 
 that dear father, and that dear brother, so lately slain 
 in battle, and that battle had certainly proclaimed St. 
 Julian the^l conqueror i — His victory over the allied 
 armies had resounded far and near, and none but St, 
 Julian, was in the mouths of the millions ; that this 
 bloody battle had been achieved by his means, and his 
 means alone ; and both her father and her brother had 
 fallen in the fatal contest. This, Augustina could not 
 contradict the direct assertion of : and staggered for a 
 moment, by the strong appeal made to her by her now 
 weeping mother, (for Lady Margaret could command 
 a fountain of tears whenever she pleased to suffer them 
 to flow) as if tears, alone, were the real indication of in- 
 ternal woe : but it is not so, — for those who shed tears 
 so copiously have not half the sen^bility and feeling 
 where tears do not flow at all. It is the deep sigh that 
 
 m 
 
468 THE »tysTERiEs OF ST. claIr ; 
 
 in secret, heaves from the anguished heart, when no 
 eye is witness to its sorrows, save the all-seeing eye of 
 Heaven, that can alone bear witness of what it feels, 
 that marks the real semblance of grief ; for grief, like 
 love, always seeks concealment : it wants not the pub- 
 lic gaze of a multitude to tell that it is breathed purely 
 and freely from the source from whence its affliction 
 flows ; whether it be mourning over the death of a be- 
 loved husband, or a lamented child, and whether the 
 tears shed are really genuine, or only affected, it is not 
 in mortal power to know : but it is known to that di- 
 vine essence of our nature, which cannot reach mortal 
 knowledge, and the book is wisely shut ; if open, no 
 mortal philosophy or worldly wisdom could survive its 
 disclosure of human events ! Profanely do we seek to 
 enquire into that knowledge, but who has ever been 
 able to direct us to the divine mystery ? and he is 
 wisest and best who avoids it. 
 
 And transported at the change which she now be- 
 held in the half relenting and half subdued feelings of 
 her sorrowing child, in the supposition that she now 
 believed in the rancorous tale she had told her, she rap- 
 turously exclaimed, — 
 
 * There spoke the virtuous and noble daughter of the 
 great Albino ! and thou hast conquered, my child, the 
 strongest and the weakest passion that ever reigned in 
 womankind. Yes, St. Julian has been false to thee, 
 and, as I said before, has indirectly, though not open- 
 ly, led thy father and thy young and lovely brother to 
 the field of slaughter ! which I wonder not that thou 
 shouldst so slowly have believed, or that I should feel 
 intemperate at thy warmth : yet my loved girl is now 
 convinced that her mother has not uttered falsely, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 469 
 
 has proved herself a heroine, by surmounting the hard- 
 est trial woman ever met with — an apostate lover ! 
 for such is St. Julian ! let not thy tears, then, flow for 
 one so unworthy of thy love, but quickly dry, and seek 
 peace and consolation where it is to be found, ray love.' 
 ' And where is that, my mother?' uttered the weep- 
 ing innocent maid, whose look, at this moment, would 
 have called down angels to have pitied her: — her fa- 
 ther and her brother slain in battle, — and St. Julian 
 false, and lost to her for ever ! — it was too much for 
 her tender nature to bear, nor needed she the re- 
 proaches of a mother to have added to the augmenta- 
 tion of her misery ; who, however, no sooner saw the 
 accomplishment of her evil designs completed, than 
 she endeavoured, by every means that was possible, to 
 heal the wound her cruelty had inflicted. 
 
 Her stratagem had succeeded, and that was suffi- 
 cient, — and she made use of the most religious argu- 
 ments to console the agitated spirits of her afflicted 
 child ; who, after having been prevailed upon by her 
 crafty mother to take tea in her apartments, retired at 
 an early hour to her chamber, with her faithful attend- 
 ant, Antoinette ; where, relieved of the presence of the 
 Lady Margaret, she gave full vent to the anguish of 
 her feelings, imparting to Antoinette the whole burthen 
 of her sorrows, and the conversation which she had 
 held with her mother respecting St. Julian : to which, 
 after a thoughtful pause, Antoinette replied, — 
 
 ' And dost thou so soon give credit to a tale that 
 e'er would wrong the virtuous character of such a god- 
 like hero ? Can the idle tongue of slander, poisonous 
 and deadly as the breath of serpents, find such belief 
 ift the chaste bosom of my lovely mistress, that for a 
 
470 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 moment she could suspect the houour of St. Julian ? 
 Lady, heed it not ; for though an angel descended 
 from the skies to tell me that St. Julian ere was false 
 to thee, — I would not, could not, believe the scan- 
 dalous aspersion. 
 
 * But my mother told me,' said Augustina, ' and 
 for her voucher did give the Cardinal Benvolio as the 
 author of the vile report.' 
 
 ' The Cardinal Benvolio,' uttered Antoinette, with 
 a suppression of a smile of the most abject contempt. 
 " Then trust me, lady, that the tale is false ; for the 
 cardinal is false, and with falsehood truth cannot 
 exist : it is a plain, white-robed child of smiling inno- 
 cence and beauty, and cannot be mistaken ; but false- 
 hood, when it drops the m ask that conceals its hideous 
 brazen front, has no power of withholding its deformity 
 in the eyes of the whole world, and is then unable to 
 defend itself from the contempt and the scorn it has 
 so justly merited. Believe not, lady, that St. Julian 
 ere hath done this deed ; but bear in silence, all you 
 hear pronounced against his spotless faith till you have 
 some better voucher for his apostate vows than the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, and the Lady Margaret, your mo- 
 ther. Averse to your marriage with the mighty con- 
 queror, she ever was St. Julian's foe. Canst thou 
 then wonder at the treachery that is connived against 
 him, or that the cardinal should join to aid the foul 
 report ? He is an enemy to all that is virtuous, and 
 therefore doth bear enmity to St. Julian.* 
 
 Thus ended the conversation between the two fair 
 friends which had greatly tended to tranquillize the 
 agitated raind of the lovely Augustina, respecting the 
 supposed perfidy and ingratitude of her still beloved 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOTJLINE. 471 
 
 St. Julian. She no longer doubted of his truth and 
 sincerity towards her, and now endeavoured to con- 
 sole, in her turn, the afflicted and alarmed feelings of 
 Antoinette, as hearing no tidings of rae, she con- 
 cluded that I too had fallen on the plains of Morna 
 Penritch, and was numbered with the dead. 
 
 <' Judge then, Sir Orville Faulkner,' 'continued Fer- 
 dinand, " of the joyous transports she experienced 
 again, at beholding me in safety, and finding that I was 
 under the protection of the virtuous and renowned St. 
 JuHan : but short was the tide of joy that filled the bo- 
 som of my young and lovely wife, when I informed her 
 of the necessity of my again shortly being compelled to 
 leave her, and to embark, with my illustrious lord and 
 - master, on a secret expedition, which he was to join 
 immediately : although I softened this intelligence as 
 much as possible, she was considerably affected ; yet, 
 after some moments, a calmer conversation ensued,— 
 as I assured her that the proposed expedition would 
 not be protracted to more than three days, and if 
 crowned with victory, that I should then return with 
 the mighty conqueror, and remove her under the pro- 
 tection of a husband's arms from the now hated castle 
 of St. Clair : on which assurance, she seemed better 
 reconciled to a destiny, which it was evident that I 
 could not avoid, or with honour forgo. 
 
 In the meanwhile I had received a packet from the 
 hands of the beauteous daughter of Albino, which, I 
 did not doubt, contained the most precious remem- 
 brance of her affection ; but it was conveyed to me 
 through my Antoinette : and I saw not the Bohemian 
 lady before I departed from the castle of St. Clair, 
 
472 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 which was on the following morning, and on the last 
 night of the carnival at Vienna. 
 
 But how to obtain another parting interview with 
 the beloved of my soul I knew not, without again ven- 
 turing into the interior of the castle, she having been 
 all day in attendance on her young mistress : for to 
 have gone thither a second time, disguised as a Jew- 
 pedlar, would, I was well aware, expose me to the 
 hazard of a discovery, from some of the domestics, who 
 were stationed in the grand entrance of the hall, — 
 through which I must, perforce, pass, ere I could ar- 
 rive at the apartments of the Lady Augustina. Yet to 
 depart without once more bidding farewell to my wife, 
 uncertain whether 1 might ever chance to behold her 
 again in this world's earthly space, was far more re- 
 pellant to my feelings than even encountering danger 
 for her sake. 
 
 And in this dilemma, I waited for the silent approach 
 of the midnight hour, when I could steal in unobserved, 
 and hide me in a place where some relics of the an- 
 cient armour were usually kept, and wholly neglected, 
 not being that formerly worn by the descendants of 
 St. Clair. 
 
 I did so without difficulty ; and searching among 
 the huge masses of lumber that lay scattered and piled 
 up in heaps, picked out a habit and helmet of a knight, 
 (which had once been worn, in martial triumph, by a 
 warrior in feudal times) a rusty shield, too, and lance — 
 I provided myself with : and when arrayed in my new 
 attire, 1 sallied forth by the light of the pale and glim- 
 mering lamps that still kept burning in the corridor. ' 
 
 Already had I reached, without impediment, the 
 door of the apartments of the Bohemian lady,— already 
 
 •• 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOITLINE. 473 
 
 bad I placed my hand on the huge and massy bolt 
 that stood between me and the mistress of my soul ! 
 in another moment I should enfold her in my arms ; 
 my heart palpitated with hope and fear, not to be ex- 
 pressed but by one precisely in ray situation ; and at 
 this terrific moment of unutterable suspense, a figure 
 slowly advanced towards me from the further end of 
 the corridor : — to retreat was not only impracticable 
 but impossible, as I must have passed this figure to 
 have made my escape. 
 
 Nearer it approached me : it hailed me by the name 
 of Ferdinand, in a voice I could no longer mistake. 
 Sir Orviile Faulkner, it was the voice of the accursed 
 cardinal which now assailed my ear ! who while he aim- 
 ed a dagger at my heart, furiously exclaimed,-— 
 
 * Miscreant ! think not, a second time, to escape the 
 power of the vengeance of thy mortal enemy^ Ben- 
 volio !' 
 
 I flew at the savage monster : I grappled with him 
 for awhile, with the strength of a young lion, darting 
 on its prey ! and in the furious scuffle, the dagger, that 
 he held, dropt to the ground ! Sir Orviile Faulkner, 
 at that very instant the wife of Albino flew breathless 
 along the corridor, snatched up the fallen dagger, and 
 placing it in the firm grasp of the cardinal, he ])lunged 
 it instantly in my side. 
 
 ' Again T uttered the tigress, ' then throw his body 
 in the Severn. I warrant he never more will rise, to 
 tell his tale to a passing traveller.* 
 
 The blow was not repeated, for ray blood flowed 
 copiously ; and as I heaved a piercing, hollow groan, 
 he concluded that he had finished his murderous de- 
 sign ; and dragging me to the end of the corridor, he 
 21 3« 
 
474 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 threw me into the deep stream that washed the gardens 
 of the pagoda ; where, at this moment, it was possible 
 I became insensible to all the horrors of my situation: — 
 but how long I had continued so, I know not, for on 
 the first moment of my returning recollection, 1 found 
 myself in a warm and comfortable bed, surrounded by 
 a cottager, his wife, and a little smiling group of inno- 
 cent, happy faces, which were those of his children. 
 I felt but little pain in my bodily sufferings, and dis- 
 covered that ray linen had been changed, and my 
 wound dressed with bandages, which had been re» 
 cently applied : but my senses were still wandering 
 and disturbed ; and I was so weak, from the loss of 
 blood, that I had scarce power to enquire where I was, 
 or who had preserved me from the jaws of death ! even 
 the light, which was partially admitted into the little 
 chamber in which 1 lay, was too much for me, — and I 
 closed my eyes again, wholly unable to raise them, 
 even to the kind faces that were bending over me with 
 the most gentle and compassionate sympathy. 
 
 At length, I heard a soft voice exclaim, — * Mother^ 
 he will surely yet die, if we do not awaken him and give 
 him some food." Which was answered, as gently, in the 
 following words : — 
 
 * No, Jane : he is better, far better, and he will re- 
 cover. Yes, Heaven has heard our prayer, and the 
 poor youth will not die unfriended and unknown I nor 
 the vile assassin, who has stabbed him, remain unpu- 
 nished for the dark deed he would have finally accom- 
 plished, but for that kind Providence who directed 
 your father to the fatal spot from whence his deep 
 groans were first heard ! It is well that your brother, 
 Robin, was so early up to work, and assisted Matthew 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 476 
 
 in dragging the body from out of the waters of the 
 Severn, or in a few moments the poor soul had perished* 
 It was a piteous sight when they brought him in and 
 laid him beside of our dear little sleeping William; alas ! 
 I had no'otherbed, and no other chamber, to put him in, 
 except my own, and you were with me and my two 
 other girls ; and I was sadly frightened, (Heaven 
 knows !) when you father bid me rise, and try to staunch 
 the blood that was flowing like a river from his left 
 side. Thanks to Providence, I soon recovered from 
 my fright, when 1 saw a poor dying soul in want of 
 assistance ; so we gently stript him of all his wet 
 cloathes, the very first thing : then we staunched the 
 wound, as well as we were able, and poured some 
 cordial down his throat, and took the boy up, and laid 
 the poor sufferer in his warm place ; — But he never 
 opened his eyes, and we were terribly afraid that he 
 was gone for ever ! but last night I dressed the ugly 
 gap in his side again, and the blood is quite stopped, 
 and the wound is better, and in a few days it will be 
 quite healed, and the dear soul supped some warm gruel, 
 though he could not speak : yet he is weak, very weak, 
 and we must not disturb him ; in awhile he will be 
 more able to bear the light ; so draw the certain, Jane, 
 and comfort thyself with the reflection that we have all 
 done our duty, to save the life of a fellow-creatures 
 who, mayhap, would have perished without our as- 
 sistance.' 
 
 Judge of my emotions of heart-felt gratitude to 
 these humble and kind compassionate angels, who, 
 through the interposition of Divine power, had been the 
 preservers of my existence. Sir Orvi lie Faulkner, 
 my sensations were indescribable, as 1 listened to the 
 
476 THE MY&TERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 simple detail, uttered from tlie cottager's wife to her 
 young and lovely daughter, who, engaged in the ne- 
 cessary household concerns, had not, it appears, enter- 
 ed the chamber, where I was laid, till this morning, 
 when my pallid countenance and closed eyes made 
 her imagine that my death was certain. 
 
 But to have remained silent, after listening to the 
 foregoing conversation, was impossible : and a recol- 
 lection of all that had happened (which had reduced 
 me to this miserable situation) now suddenly darted 
 across my mind« I remembered that it was the Car* 
 dinal Benvolio whom I had encountered in the corridor, 
 while stationed at the door of the apartments of the 
 Lady Augustina, — and that his hand had pointed the 
 dagger to my heart, — that I had grappled hard with 
 him to preserve my life, and in the struggle the dag- 
 ger had fallen to the ground, — and that I should then 
 have coaquered him, had not that demon, in a woman's 
 form, (Albino's treacherous and perfidious wife) rushed 
 in between us, snatched up the fatal instrument of 
 death, and placing it in the hands of the assassin, bid 
 him plunge it in my heart ! He did so : but not by her 
 command had he repeated the blow, which would pro- 
 bably have terminated my existence : and not by his 
 means was I, a second time, snatched from the horrors 
 of impending death ; — for he believed that he had al- 
 ready accomplished his fatal purpose, and when he 
 threw me in the deep waters of the Severn, that I 
 should never rise more to point to the hand that had 
 done the deadly deed. And e'en in this fearful hour 
 he felt he was a coward, and had dealt a coward's blow> 
 aimed at the breast of an innocent and unoffending 
 man, and instigated by a vile, perfidious womao> 
 
OR, MARIBTTE MOULINE. 477 
 
 whom, ere loQg, he was resolved to treat with the dir- 
 est cruelty : for where is the man, however prone to 
 vice or folly, that can long be true to woman when he 
 knows that she is as perfidious and as vile as himself? 
 No 1 the most abandoned profligate — the most licenti- 
 ous libertine is awed by superior virtue, when he sees 
 it enshrined in the heart and the form of lovely wo- 
 man. 
 
 And when the immortal bard pronounced, that 
 
 ** Conscience can make cowards of us all," 
 
 it was even so with the Cardinal Benvolio : and he 
 retired with trembling and fear from the scene, where 
 be had imagined he had committed the deadly deed of 
 murder, in the character of one of heaven's own mi- 
 nisters, overwhelmed, no doubt, with the consciousness 
 of his guilt and the fear of meeting the eye of that of- 
 fended Being, from whom he dared not look up for 
 pardon and forgiveness; 
 
 Having forfeited it by all ties, both divine and hu- 
 man, to obtain what ? earthly ambition— earthly gran- 
 deur ! how small, how abject, when compared with the 
 happiness of our immortal souls .' and the reflection, 
 that with the last expiring sigh fa(ies and even perishes 
 all earthly grandeur and all earthly pomp and vanity, 
 should humble those who, placed in exalted rank and 
 circumstances, think that it can atone for all human 
 error or all human imperfections. 
 
 They may find it so, while here they are sojourners, 
 but hereafter it will be of no avail : whether they were 
 born a duke or a duchess, a slave or a peasant, is not 
 of the slighest moment when they must again mix with 
 their mother-earth : and there is then no distinction of 
 
478 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 birth or quality ; but he who can meet his Maker with 
 a clear unsullied conscience, (whether he has lived in a 
 cottage or a palace) will meet the same impartial trial 
 as he who has descended to the grave with all his ar- 
 morial bearings about him. 
 
 These were my reflections, Sir Orville Faulkner, 
 even before I had uttered a word of gratitude to my 
 deliverers : and the strange dress in which I was habit- 
 ed, when Ihey took my nearly lifeless body out of the 
 Severn, might have led them to conjecture that I was 
 a man of superior rank and quality, and in that I was 
 resolved to undeceive them the very moment that I 
 gained sufficient strength to converse with them j and 
 I bethought me of the precious packet with which I had 
 been entrusted from the hands of the lovely Augustina, 
 and whether it was yet safe in the custody of the bene- 
 volent creatures, who had so providentially restored 
 me to animation by their humane and generous exer* 
 tions ; I had concealed in it a vest, in my bosom, next to 
 my shirt, and if I had not lost it in the struggle with 
 Behvolio, I knew that they must have found it on my 
 person when they stript me of my clothes : and if so, 
 1 knew that it was in perfect security, and would be 
 restored to me whenever I was sufficiently collected to 
 converse with them on the disastrous and perilous state 
 from which they had taken me, — nor did I long remain 
 in suspense concerning this, to me, most momentous 
 affair ; for the cottager's wife, bending over me, when 
 she perceived that I was wide awake, in a gentle and 
 compassionate tone, demanded to know how 1 felt ray- 
 self, and whether she could administer any thing that 
 I thought would be of service to me, at the same time 
 that she held in her hand a bason of nice broth, from a 
 
dR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 479 
 
 chicken, which she had killed from her own little brood, 
 and had duly prepared for me. 
 
 Sir Orville Faulkner, if there was an earthly saint 
 I could at this moment have fell down and worshipped, 
 it was this old woman : nor was I slo^v in returning 
 my heartfelt sense of gratitude for the kindness and 
 humanity they had manifested towards me. In falter- 
 ing and tremulous accents 1 implored her thanks, and 
 that of her kind-liearted family, for raising me, as it 
 were, from the mansions of the dead : told her that I 
 was a follower and lover of the great St. Julian, who 
 had lately won the battle on the plains of Morna Pen- 
 ritch, and that journeying with dispatches from my il- 
 lustrious master, I was attacked by an unknown assas- 
 sin, as I travelled, in the hour of midnight, on the bor<^ 
 ders of the forest, and that the inhuman monster, in 
 the supposition that he had completed his bloody pur- 
 pose, had thrown me in the deep waters of the Severn, 
 that flow round and about the battlements of the castle 
 of St, Clair, where I should probably soon have perish- 
 ed, had not timely and most humane exertions been 
 used to save me. 
 
 1 thought the old woman looked a Httle incredulously 
 when I pleaded utter ignorance of the murderer who 
 had been guilty of this dire cruelty towards me, but 
 I soon discovered what were her motives for not sup- 
 posing that I had any previous knowledge of the as- 
 sassin, who had aimed the dagger at my life. 
 
 The honest creature immediately placed before me 
 the packet I was entrusted with from the Lady Augus- 
 tina, and the purse of gold that was given me by St. 
 Julian : while she exclaimed, — z 
 
 * There, youth, is thy property, which my husband. 
 
480 THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR J 
 
 Matthew, when we stript the cloathes off thy bleeding 
 body, found about thee ; the packet was in thy vest 
 and nearly drenched with thy blood, (God save us !) 
 poor soul, that flowed from thy wound that some vil- 
 lain hath dealt thee, — Heaven punish him for the foul 
 deed ! and the purse was lodged in the pocket of thy 
 under garment : thou mayest count it all over, youth, — 
 what thou had is there still, I will be bound for it; 
 Matthew is too honest a man to wrong a hair of thy 
 head, much less would he rob thee of thy money, were 
 he ever so base, in thy desperate state : so thee may 
 count it over, and see if it be right ; for all that thee 
 be truly welcome.' 
 
 * Count my money when it has been preserved by 
 thee, thou humane, kind, and compassionate creature !' 
 uttered I- *No! had 1 the wealth of worlds I would 
 freely bestow it in thy custody and thy worthy hus- 
 band's. You, who have preserved that which is far 
 more precious than gold, would scarce be tempted 
 to take that which, after death, holds no dominion 
 here.* 
 
 ' I thank thee, youth, for thy good thoughts towards 
 us,' uttered she ; * nor will I suffer thee to talk much 
 in thy weak and languid state ; yet it does not appear 
 that the vile murderer who attacked thee in this forest, 
 youth, had any view of love of gain or lucre, or he had 
 taken thy purse of shining gold, to him more precious 
 than thy life. Near the castle of St. Clair, saidst 
 thou, the assassin met thee in this sad encounter ?' 
 
 To this inquiry I evaded an explanation as much as 
 possible ; by no means wishing to name the cardinal 
 as the perpetrator of this foul deed ; for what proof 
 had I to give of it ? no one saw him strike the blow,— 
 
OR MARIETTE MOULINE. 481 
 
 ^ave alone the perfidious woman who had instigated 
 liim to this crue! outrage : and my voice, as his accuser, 
 \vould not be heard by the judges of Vienna, where 
 Benvolio was the reigning idol of perfection. None 
 "would believe the tale of horror, unless the most cir- 
 cumstantial proof could be given of his haying com- 
 mitted the fact ; and I had neither facts or circumstan- 
 tial proof, — so thought it most politic to let it slumber 
 for awhile, till I should again behold St. Julian, whose 
 mighty vengeance, for that and other crimes, would, 
 ere long, hurl the profane monster from his fancied 
 throne of greatness, and send him sinking to the shades 
 i)elow. 
 
 Ill the meanwhile, under the lowly roof of my kind 
 preservers, I gradually recovered of my wound and re- 
 gained my strength, though not'my spirits, which, on 
 account of the anxiety of St. Julian, were considera- 
 bly depressed, as well as the uneasiness I experienced 
 in being so near to the hated towers of St. Clair ; but 
 i was still so weak as not to be able to sustain the fa- 
 tigiie of a long journey to the camp, where innumera- 
 ble dangers awaited me : nor could I, by any means, 
 convey any intelligence to my illustrious commander, 
 without hazarding an immediate discovery of my per- 
 son, and being again surprised by treachery. In the 
 meantime, my kind preserver continued to shew me 
 every attention that their happy dwelling could afford ; 
 and I was convinced, before 1 quitted this humble and 
 peaceful abode, that the blessing of contentment flows 
 "more sweetly and pure in the cottages of the poor, than 
 in the lofty palaces of the splendid and wealthy, — who 
 are miserable even when they possess all that they de- 
 sire, and still desire more '• Yes, it is an incontestible 
 22 3 R 
 
482 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 truth, which cannot be denied, — that the love of gold, 
 the lust of lucre, the rage of property, that hardens the 
 heart and corrupts the principles, as well as blinds the 
 understanding and perverts the judgment : and to use 
 the words of an ingenious poet, 
 
 " Since that devoted thirst began, 
 Man has forgot to feel for man ; 
 The pulse of social life is dead, — 
 And all its finer feelings fled." 
 
 I had now been an inmate in the cottage of Matthew 
 Gray (for that was the name of ray deliverer) about 
 the period of six weeks : when one evening, as we sat 
 at supper, the elder son, (who was married to a res- 
 pectable farmer*s daughter in the vicinity of St. Clair) 
 entered his father's dwelling, somewhat abruptly, with 
 the intelligence — that the great army of the mighty 
 conqueror, the brave St. Julian, were exhausted of 
 their provisions, and drained of all their stores, 
 insomuch that the famished soldiery had laid down 
 their arms, and were expiring in their tents ; that the 
 camp was deserted, and that St. Julian, having no 
 other resource, had sent a herald from the camp, 
 with considerable monies, imploring the Lady Mar- 
 garet Albino to grant him some assistance, and to send 
 him ammunition from the ample stores of her garrison ; 
 which petition she had peremptorily and haughtily re- 
 jected. 
 
 Thunderstruck and alarmed by intelligence so af- 
 flicting, I eagerly demanded, if he could inform me 
 the name of the herald that was charged with his high 
 authority ; and he replied, — 
 Sir Walter De Puthen is the name he bears ; and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 483 
 
 a more gallant soldier my eyes did never behold. I 
 had a glance of him, on his warlike steed, as he passed 
 the battlements of St. Clair.* 
 
 ' And doth bear as warm a heart,' exclaimed I. 
 * Sir Walter De Ruthenis the page of our great com- 
 mander, and is the glory and the pride of all the army. 
 Would I could behold him, ere he again sets forward 
 to the camp.' 
 
 To which, Guillimi replied, — 
 
 * Admission to the castle is now a difficult matter, 
 owing to some ill-favoured reports that have reached 
 the ear of the high treasurer, and the ghostly confessor, 
 of this illustrious family, — the Cardinal Benvolio ; 
 still, as you are so earnestly desirous of seeing Sir 
 Walter, I will contrive the manner of your entrance 
 there, without any suspicion of your being a stranger 
 for strangers are prohibited, unless they carry with 
 them a high recommendation to the cardinal from Vi- 
 enna ; but my wife's brother is one of the under-gar- 
 deners in the castle, and under the pretence of carry- 
 ing in plants and flowers, often takes a friend along 
 with him, without the cardinal, or any body else, know- 
 ing about the matter.* 
 
 I thanked Guillimi most heartily for his kind offer, 
 and could scarcely conceal the transports I felt, that 
 there might still be a chance of my seeing my adored 
 wife once again ; yet to venture there alone — I dared 
 not, unless, again meeting the cardinal or Albino's 
 wife, I could, in the figure and habit in which they had 
 long since concluded that they had terminated my 
 earthly existence, impress on their minds the terror of 
 a supernatural appearance j and I determiaed to ap- 
 pear before theai if necessity required,* in the habit 
 
484 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 and rusty armour of the knight, which they had staiaeA 
 •with humaiv blood, on the night of the carnival. At 
 present I wore the simple garb of a cottager, (with, 
 which I had been accommodated by my preserver, as. 
 soon as I couJd leave the chamber where I had laid sa 
 long confined,) but I contrived to take the habit of the 
 knight with me on the evening that Guillimi took me 
 along with him to the castle of St. Claic : on entering 
 which, (although no coward) I endured a sort of 
 shuddering sensation, like unto a man viewing the 
 brink of a fearful precipice, from which he had narrowly 
 escaped destruction : the voice of Albino's, wife, bid- 
 ding the accursed priest to strike the dagger's point 
 yet more deeply to my heart, still rung in my ear, and 
 my knees actually tottered under me, when the porter 
 let fall the huge and massy bolt of the western gates,, 
 demanding to know our business. 
 
 * What, honest Hassan, dost thou not know that 
 yet,* uttered Guillimi, (who was loaded with the era-^ 
 blems of his trade — plants and flowers, with which he 
 had also plentifully supplied me, insomuch that I 
 was nearly sinking, — being still weak, — beneath their 
 burden,) * that thou need V enquire it now ? Heaven 
 save thee ! canst find, in a corner of thy cupboard, a 
 glass of sherbet, for a gardener and yon poor luckless 
 wight, whom I have lately taken into my service, ta 
 help me in the grounds, which do stand much in need 
 of the sweat of a poor man's brow, for they have been 
 mortally neglected since the ugly wars have made 
 every mother's son of us handle a musket)?' 
 
 ' A murrain on the wars, and them that made them !' 
 was the surly reply of Hassan, who, satisfied ^ith 
 my being, a brother gardener of Guillimi's, suffered me 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE 485 
 
 lopass without troubling himself to take any particu- 
 lar survey of my person ; while, in a few minutes, he 
 produced a bottle of sherbet, and, handing each of us 
 a flowing bumper, made us drink * Confusion to the ene- 
 mies of Bohemia, and the overthrow of the allied 
 forces.' 
 
 * But hast thou heard tlie news that is now stirring 
 abroad, Guillimi,* uttered he, ' that St. Julian, that 
 mighty conqueror, who defies the world, and who sa 
 lately won the battle on the plains of Morna Penritch,— - 
 hast thou indeed heard that fiimine has visited him, even 
 in the midst of all his smiling victory, and that his. 
 brave soldiery are now perishing for lack of food ? 
 Even now a herald has arrived from the camp, — the gal- 
 lant Sir Walter De Ruthen,— with a petition to our lady 
 to grant assistance to the famished troops (hat lay 
 sick in the tents, an.d perishing for succour, and for 
 food ^-r-but, by my good faith^ tliey'il ne'er have that 
 from our stern and haughty mistress : she's none of 
 the gentlest kind thou knowest, Guillimi ; and they 
 have killed her gallant lord and brave young son. 
 'Tis not meet a widowed wife, and sorrowing mother 
 should thank them for so kind a deed, — and so vSir 
 Walter will haply depart, an unsuccessful suitor.' 
 
 ' Yet surely it were humanity to save the sinking; 
 soldiery,* uttered Guillimi, * and for the deed thou 
 speakest of, I have heard the tale is false, and the 
 brave St. Julian vilely slandered by the report.' 
 
 To which Hassan replied, as bidding us farewell, he 
 returned to his duty at the gate, * Whether true or 
 false, I care not a stiver.' 
 
 * Neither do I,' was the short response of the porter ; 
 and onwards we walked to the gardens of the pagoda^^ 
 
486 THE iUYSTERIES OF St. CLAlR ; 
 
 without further molestation, Guiiliml observing the 
 most profound silence till we had fairly reached the 
 centre of this lovely and sequestered spot, the sight 
 of which had nearly overpowered me ; for there had I 
 taken a last parting glance of my Antoinette : yet I en- 
 deavoured to conquer my sensibility (for the most ri- 
 gid monster in existence, could not, under such cir- 
 cumstances, have termed it a weakness) from the ob- 
 servation of Guillimi, who pointing to the bower of 
 roses, now in the most delicious bloom, and wafting 
 their fragrant sweetness on the cool breezes of the 
 evening air,-^ 
 
 ' See you not that lovely and bewitching retreat is 
 canopied with roses ?' uttered he, * that belongs 
 wholly to the use and pleasure of the great Albino's 
 daughter, the beauteous Lady Augustina, the fairest 
 and the most virtuous of all ladies in Bohemia's smil- 
 ing land ; and being her's, none dare enter these bar- 
 riers after dark, unless privileged persons, such as 
 thou and me ; and Guillimi smiled as he made the re- 
 mark ; but alas ! he knew not the deep anguish, which 
 then pervaded my heart, and the bitter pangs of a fond 
 and doating husband, now exiled, (Heaven knows 
 how long !} from the presence of the woman that he 
 adored: and little was I in a humour for mirth or 
 pleasantry at such a moment, nay, I will confess my 
 faults, Sir Orville Faulkner.** 
 
 " Do so, Ferdinand," uttered Sir, Orville, half 
 smiling, yet deeply interested in the conclusion of a 
 narrative which had alternately afforded him both plea- 
 sure and pain, — given birth to a smile, and drawn forth 
 a tear of sympathy at the sorrows of the young and 
 amiable vvandercr, whose destiny liad been so strange- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 487 
 
 ly marked with mystery, crosses, dangers, and disap- 
 pointments : but for whom heaven, he hoped, had still 
 in store, blessings that he not yet dreamed of, (for 
 when did heaven yet desert its faithful votaries ?) and 
 fixing his deep blue eyes full on the changing counte- 
 nance of Ferdinand, he impressively pronounced, — 
 
 " You are incontestibly right, Ferdinand, to confess 
 your faults, since it is only by a confession of faults 
 that we can ever hope to be forgiven.*' 
 
488 THE MYSTEIHES OF '^ST. CLAIR \ 
 
 CHAPTER XII, 
 
 " Oh thou with whom iwy heart was wont to share, 
 From reason's dawn, each pleasure, and each care j 
 With whom, alas ! I fondly hopM to know 
 The humble walks of happiness below ; 
 If thy blest nature now unites above. 
 An angel's pity with a brother's love, 
 Still o'er my life, preserve thy mild controul j 
 Correct my views, and elevate my soul; 
 Grant me thy peace and purity of mind 
 Devout, yet cheerful, — -active, yet resigned. 
 Grant me, like Ihee, whose heart knew no disguise, 
 Whose blameless wishes never airiied to rise, 
 To meet the changes time and chance present 
 With modest dignity, and calm content.'* 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 " But follies, like diseases, you will allow. Sir 
 Orville,** continued Ferdinand, " are often contagi- 
 ous, although they do not amount to vices ; the hu- 
 mours of our bodies have a regular influence to move 
 and imperceptibly turn our will. They flow together, 
 and successively exercise a secret empire over us, — 
 so that they have a considerable share in what we do 
 without our knowledge ; and most men, like plants, 
 have hidden qualities^ which chance discovers, and 
 
on, mahiette moulwe. 489 
 
 ^tca^ion makes known to each other, and still more 
 known to ourselves. And this was my case, while 
 ^onversin^ with the honest Guillirai in the gardens of 
 the pagodti : I envied him for the possession of those 
 tranquil pleasures and domestic enjoyments, which 
 never could be mine : and, torn from a lovely wife, 
 whom I then doated on with the chastest and the pur- 
 est affection, in a state of mind nearly bordering on dis- 
 traction, if any pardonable excuse could then be ad- 
 mitted, for cherishing' sentiments so unamiable, — it 
 was at this agonizing moment, when a man feels that 
 the only tie which binds him to existence, is on the 
 eve of being separated from him for ever. At length, 
 after wandering for nearly an hour in the plantations 
 in order to evade the curiosity of the servants, and 
 when night had again oast her sable mantle over 
 the face of all shadowy things, Guillimi remind- 
 ed me of the lateness of the hour, and further hinted 
 that if I had any further business to transact in the 
 castle, that it was time to consider of it, as we must 
 ^depart at a particular hour, when all communications 
 with strangers, not belonging immediately to the cas- 
 tle of St. Clair, would peremptorily be denied, and 
 soldiery placed at the entrance of each door, to see 
 that all interlopers were turned out before the hour of 
 twelve, — the hour always devoted to the private con- 
 ference of the Lady Margaret Albino and the Cardinal 
 Benvolio, in the gothic chamber of the armory,— the 
 guilty spot of all their perfidious meetings, contrivancy 
 and diabolical consultations ; and though I had reason 
 to abhor this fatal place, so lately the scene of my late 
 honoured lord's disgrace and infamy, owing to the 
 faithless conduct of a perfidious wife, yet I had a 
 22 3 s 
 
490 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 secret wish to visit it, once more, ere I departed from 
 the castle of St. Clair, it being next to the hall of au- 
 dience, where it was probable that I should obtain a 
 glance of the gallant Sir Walter De Ruthen, that be- 
 ing the hour for the secret couneil held there on mat- 
 ters of the state. I then produced the habit of the 
 blood-stained knight, (which 1 intended to wear) and 
 shewed it to Gullimi, at which he seemed horror-struck 
 and surprised : but telling him that I had a particular 
 design to accomplish, and that I could adopt no other 
 under the circumstances I was then placed, he assisted 
 me in putting it on, and taking care of my clothes till 
 I should return to him, again, in the gardens of the 
 pagoda, which I was now obliged immediately to do : 
 and relinquishing all hope of ever beholding my poor 
 Antoinette again, 1 was just on the point of quitting 
 Guillimi, when t imagined that I could distinguish a 
 glimmer of light in the western tower, which was ad- 
 jacent to the apartments of the Lady Augustina, and 
 the sound of a guitar issue from thence. 
 
 ' Listen V uttered Guillimi, * 'tis a female voice, 
 though low and plaintive, that accompanies the music 
 that we hear.' 
 
 I listened with profound attention, and with rap- 
 tures indescribable, discovered that it was the voice 
 of my Antoinette, who, in soft and trembling accents, 
 sung the words of a favorite air, to which I had often 
 listened with delight in happier hours, which was the 
 following : — 
 
 " The captive who in exile wears 
 The lonely hours away, 
 Makes hope the soother of his fears. 
 Companion of his way. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 491 
 
 For while he drags the lengthening chain, 
 Or tugs the labouring oar, 
 Still hope will bid him not complain, 
 Nor distant joys deplore. 
 
 But captive love is doomed to feel 
 An exile more severe ; 
 Nor hope can soothe, nor time can heal. 
 The bosom of despair. 
 
 By chance the captive may return 
 To happiness again j 
 But captive love must ever mourn. 
 And learn to hug the chain."* 
 
 Conceive my unbounded transports^ Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, at once more being blest with the sound of 
 the voice of the angel I adored : although despairing 
 and hopeless of obtaining an interview with her, yet 
 I rejoiced to find that she was .well enough to converse 
 with her lovely mistress ; but I took great care not to 
 suffer my emotions to get the better of me in the pre- 
 sence of Guillimi, or to inform him that the charm- 
 ing songstress was my wife, whose vocal abilities he 
 had extolled so highly ; but telling him that I would 
 return almost immediately, stole softly out of the gar- 
 dens of the pagoda, and it being then so dark that no 
 one could discover objects, cautiously advanced, step 
 by step, along the corridor, even to that very spot 
 where the dagger's point was aimed at my breast by 
 that villain of all earthly villains, the Cardinal Ben- 
 volio .' and that perfidious of all woman-kind, the Lady 
 Margaret Albino ! nor will I boldly advance that I 
 trembled not, and did not shudder at sight of that fa- 
 tal place, where they had designed to have perpetra- 
 ted a ' most foul and unnatural murder' on a fellow- 
 
 * The above air was written and composed by the author at the age of 
 fourteen. 
 
49S THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR ; 
 
 creature, who had never offered them injury. Thi* 
 once^ however, I escaped detection ; and as I gradually 
 approached the entrance of the armory, I distinctly 
 heard the voice of Albino's wife, in loud dispute with 
 the gallant warrior, Sir Walter De Ruthen, whose 
 manly and intrepid tone I could scarcely be mistaken 
 iu. Violent, haughty, and disdainful was the lan- 
 guage of the infamous Margaret ; wherein she peremp- 
 torily refused to grant the supplies so earnestly im- 
 plored by St, Julian, and on whose bright unsullied 
 character she was now bestowing invectives of the 
 bitterest and most rancorous kind, ably defended by 
 his faithful and gallant page. Sir Orville, I was no 
 longer master of my feelings ; it was the critical mo- 
 ment to awe with terror, and strike with compunction 
 and remorse, the guilty conscience of the perfidious 
 woman ; and thus loaded with my own injuries, and 
 l^ose of my illustrious commander, I burst open the 
 door of the armory, and mysteriously stalked along 
 the chamber, thrice waving my hand before I uttered 
 any prophetic warning, and then pointing to the blood- 
 stained garm^its, bid her beware of her temerity 
 or how she offered wrong to the gallant follower of St. 
 Julian, or denied him the succour he implored. 
 
 Sir Orville Faulkner, that moment was decisive, 
 and victory was mine : my stratagem succeeded ; the 
 fear-struck Margaret, at the first glance of me, utter- 
 ed a faint cry of involuntary terror, — she was pale and 
 motionless as a statue, — her eyes glared wildly, — and 
 cold drops of perspiration fell on her forehead, and 
 imagining that she beheld the murdered Ferdinand 
 before her, she shook with a fear and trembling, that 
 almost annihilated her guilty soul ! while the gallant 
 
 iW 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 493 
 
 Sir Walter, awed but not dismayed, stood at ber side, 
 surveying my terrific form with calm and silent com- 
 posure. It was tbe moment of my retreat as well as 
 tbat of complete victory ; a moment longer bad be- 
 trayed my person, and a second time endangered, nay, 
 perbaps terminated, my existence : and crossing the 
 chamber, in tbe same mysterious manner in which I 
 had entered it, I slowly stalked out of it, leaving Mar- 
 garet in a situation too powerfully impressed by su- 
 perstitious terror, to be capable of tbe slightest exer- 
 tion, or being able to summon her vassals to her pre- 
 sence, or call her attendants to her assistance : she 
 could hold no communication, even at this precise 
 moment, with her prime agent in infamy, for he was 
 at a distance, and she could nat leave the armory, 
 to have given the least alarm, without following the 
 steps of her awful and mysterious midnight visitor : 
 who, in the figure of the blood-stained knight, she 
 fearfully concluded, was the spectre of the murdered 
 E'erdinand ; murdered by her and Benvolio on the 
 night of the carnival in Vienna ; and thus I escaped 
 the tyranny and the vengeance of my most hated and 
 mortal foes, perfectly satisfied that I had achieved the 
 grand purpose I had designed, — that of subduing and 
 humbling, even to the very dust, the stern, unpitying 
 soul of a cruel and inflexible woman, who must now, 
 ])erforce, grant the boon, she had so inhumanly denied, 
 or dread the appearance of her mysterious visitor 
 again, to warn her of the punishment that would suc- 
 ceed, if she listened not to that prophetic warning, 
 from which she could not escape. It was fear, then, 
 tbat now induced her, almost immediately, to grant 
 the supplies to St. Julian, which she dared not any 
 
494 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 longer to oppose, and to offer constrained civilities and 
 courtesies to Sir Walter De Ruthen, to hide her de- 
 pravity and conceal the shame and the punishment 
 that would attend them if ever they should be brought 
 to light ; and soon were those notes changed, before 
 discordant and harsh, and resembling the raven's 
 scream, when first she flaps her dark wing and darts 
 impetuous on her destined prey, in the voice (which 
 after slowly recovering from the terrors of the pro- 
 phetic warning) of the Lady Margaret, as she now 
 addressed St. Julian's gallant page, the only alterna- 
 tive which now remained to her, — being an act of ne- 
 cessity and not of virtue, (for with virtue certainly she 
 had nothing to do ) and therefore it might well be 
 said, in this single instance of her life, that she made, 
 by actual constraint to her inclinations, * a virtue of 
 necessity.' Hence were the supplies (before so strenu- 
 ously opposed and so haughtily denied) granted with- 
 out further delay, to the Bohemian conqueror, and his 
 gallant page now treated with every mark of respect 
 that was due to the character of a man that stood at 
 the head of the forces of the great St. Julian : and 
 the supplies were forthwith immediately conveyed, 
 with every convenient necessary provided for the gal- 
 lant warrior, while he remained in the castle of St. Clair, 
 who set forward with a richly laden cavalcade, and 
 all his retinue, to the camp of St. Julian ; but the fa- 
 tal result thou knowest, brave youth, and the dangers 
 and perils that impeded the progress of this journey, 
 and delayed the meeting with the gallant warrior and 
 his illustrious commander, I need not enumerate to 
 thee, who has so courageously shared in them all ; and 
 I hope, ere long, thy faithful fidelity to Sir Walter 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 495 
 
 De Ruthen will be meritoriously rewarded ; and a 
 glorious and combined victory over all his revengeful 
 foes, crown the happiness of the Bohemian con- 
 queror, — and in this terrestial world that he may en- 
 joy tha calm content and smiling peace, which is the 
 sure and great reward of virtuous actions : and in the 
 celestial one, when summoned to appear, that he may 
 only exchange a mortal crown for an immortal one, — 
 in comparison with, which all earthly glories, all earth- 
 ly vanities fade, and which, to use the words of the 
 great bard of renowned and sacred memory, 
 
 " Like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 Leave not a wreck behind." 
 
 One barrier still remains, to impede this smiling vic- 
 tory and this glorious consummation of all St Julian's 
 earthly hopes and wishes, the secret expedition, on 
 which he is shortly going 1 — It will indeed be short, 
 but it will be decisive ; then if he fails, his glory will 
 be no more ; but if he conquers who shall then divide 
 empires with the immortal hero of such deathless 
 fame ? Alas ! Sir Orville, both your fortune and 
 mine, nay, perhaps the happiness of our whole suc- 
 ceeding lives depend upon this contending breath of 
 fortune's favours. If St. Julian is successful in this 
 last glorious enterprise, like a bright planet he will 
 shine with undiminished lustre, and be the wonder and 
 the glory of the world ; the hand of the beauteous 
 daughter of Albino will be his without an opposing 
 voice, or the stern command of a haughty and, too cer- 
 tainly, a rebellious mother, to forbid the sacred rites, 
 that long suffering and chaste love warrants by every 
 
 # 
 
496 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR * 
 
 sacred tie of virtue and of heaven. Made in the earliest 
 dawn of childhood's happiest days were the loves of 
 St. Julian and the Bohemian maid, and naught could 
 ever have divided them but that perfidious woman, 
 unworthy of being called the mother of that angelic 
 being, now the hapless instrument of her cruelty and 
 her revenge." 
 
 " She is indeed the loveliest creature mine eyes did 
 e'er behold of female excellence," cried Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, with a struggled sigh, which did not escape 
 the observation of Ferdinand, who perceived, with deep 
 concern, that the young and amiable youth before him 
 was inspired with an unhappy passion, where it could 
 never meet return ; and now most delicately evaded 
 any subject that might lead to a disclosure of the loves 
 of St. Julian and Augustina, whose hearts could never 
 be disunited but in death ; and resuming the thread of 
 his narrative he continued thus, — 
 
 *' You may easily imagine. Sir Orville Faulkner, 
 that I did not long remain in the gardens of the pago- 
 da,' after having once quitted the presence of the 
 Lady Margaret Albino, under circumstances so fa- 
 vourable to my wishes ; and that I returned to Guillimi 
 with a heart too transported to be expressed in words, 
 and too elated with success : yet by no means wishing 
 him to be informed of my situation ; and although 
 greatly indebted to him, for the particular service he 
 had rendered to me, yet it would have been highly 
 impolitic to have conversed with him on so important 
 an affair, still I could not resist the anxious inquiry he 
 made, to know whether I had succeeded in the affair 
 I had gone about, and whether my singular and ex- 
 traordinary appearance had not alarmed the whole df 
 
OR, MARIETTE M9ULINE. 497 
 
 the domestics with the idea that I was the spectre of a 
 murdered man come to haunt them, and to tell them 
 whose hand it was that had sent me to the shades be- 
 low. Guillimi laughed heartily as he made this re- 
 mark, and I concluded^ that it was far best to join him 
 in his mirthful pleasantry, than by a grave or melan- 
 choly deportment give him cause to suspect that I had 
 any serious reflections on having* assumed a habit so 
 extraordinary ; so I carefully replied, — 
 
 * Oh, 1 only wanted to see a pretty girl there, and 
 merely put it on for a bit of harmless gliee, just to 
 put them to the rout, while I whispered a few soft 
 nothings in the pretty damsel's ear. We all love a pretty 
 girl under the rose, thou knowest, Guillimi, and why 
 not me among the rest of them ?* 
 
 Guillimi laughed heartily, and entered, most for- 
 tunately for me, into the whimsicality of my humour 
 on such an occasion, — acknowledging, however, that 
 I had made choice of a somewhat strange habit, to 
 make love in to a pretty woman, unless I wished to 
 remind her of mortality and a bleeding heart ; * But 
 every man to his humour,' cried Guillimi, * and I 
 had mine, I remember, when first I went a courting 
 to my little Annette ; her father, who was a farmer, 
 was likewise fond of hunting and a great fox chaser : 
 so I used to go a courting to his daughter with a pair 
 of horns on my head, — and I do believe that the old 
 boy was so pleased with the oddity of the thing, that 
 he gave rae his daughter full six months before he in- 
 tended it.' It was now hardly possible to resist join- 
 ing in the mirthful strain of honest Guillimi ; and I 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 ' And was your pretty Annette as mightily pleased 
 22 3 T 
 
4^ THE MYSTERHeS OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 mth the oddity of the thing-, as her old futher ? A pair 
 of horns was not the most pleasing emblem, methinks, 
 you could have given to your fair mistress of love and 
 constancy, nor the pleasantest memorandum of matri- 
 mony.' 
 
 To which, laughing now most immoderately, he 
 replied, — 
 
 * Oh, Annette did not mind it : when she found she 
 had got fast hold of my heart, she did not care a stiver 
 about the horns, because I did not place ihem there 
 only to please her father.' 
 
 We now discontinued our little chit-chat and mere 
 harmless jpleasantry ; and assisting me to doff my 
 terrific habit of the blood-stained knight, I resumed 
 my former habiliments, which was the dress of a gar- 
 dener ; after which, we immediately took our departure 
 from the castle of St. Clair, and made the best of our 
 way back to Matthew's cottage, where, after thanking 
 Guillimi for the service he had rendered me, and the 
 trouble he had given himself on my account, I be- 
 sought him", at parting, to receive a small testimony 
 of my gratitude, which was a gold coin, (the value of 
 five guineas in Vienna) which, at first he rejected, 
 saying, that if I intended it as a reward for the ser- 
 vice he had done me, he would scorn to accept of it 
 in that light, but as a remembrance of friendship he 
 had no objection, and would keep it, for my sake, as 
 long as he lived. 
 
 ' For what are we born for,' continued he, ' and 
 for what purpose are we to enjoy the blessings of life, 
 if we do not contribute, in some degree, to the happi- 
 ness of our fellow creatures ? The man who lives for 
 himself alone, ought to die like a dog, and I would 
 
OR, marigtiue: moxjline. 409 
 
 not mind a stiver to witness the hanging of him.' 
 And with these words we parted ; and I retired to my 
 chamber, provided by these kind, good, and virtuous 
 creatures, to partake of a repose, rendered more re- 
 freshing that night than many former ones, from the 
 consciousness of the exertions I had made to serve 
 my illustrious master : and I was resolved to set out 
 for the camp, let whatever perils betide me, as soon 
 as I possibly could, still bearing the commission of 
 the precious trust which had been committed to my 
 charge by the beauteous daughter of Albino ; and 
 well knowing the anxiety and the impatience he had 
 sustained by my long protracted absence, I grew hour- 
 ly more solicitous to expedite my journey from a place 
 which would have been rendered perfectly obnoxious 
 to my feelings, from having been the scene of so much 
 horror, but that, like Pandora's box, it yet contained 
 a rich jewel in the bosom of it, and that jewel was 
 my Antoinette, Still, however, I resolved to quit the 
 roof of ray hospitable protectors, as soon as I could 
 gain intelligence of the departure of Sir Walter De 
 Ruth en and his attendants from the battlements of 
 Margaret and her presumptuous minion ; for to have 
 made myself known to him at this peculiar crisis of 
 affairs, would have been at the immediate peril of my 
 safety, well aware that some of the vassals, belonging 
 to St. Clair, would discover my person, and hailing 
 me by the name of Ferdinand, I should instantly be 
 surrounded by her guards, and betrayed into the pow- 
 er of the treacherous and perfidious Benvolio I and 
 the ensuing day I had the satisfaction of learning that 
 the cavalcade, filled with the ammunition and the 
 stores, had finally departed for the camp of St. Ju- 
 
500 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 lian, with some of the soldiery belonging to St. Clair, 
 who were, by her commands, to attend the procession 
 (in which were some of the finest horses of the Ara- 
 bian breed) as far as the frontiers of the camp ; and 
 that one of the bravest and most courageous of all 
 the soldiery in the battlements of St. Clair, was en- 
 trusted with the care of them, and the name of this 
 soldier was Macgreggor. I had frequently had an 
 opportunity of conversing with him in the guard-house, 
 and he was a fellow oi the most pleasant humour and 
 the most undaunted courage and careful habits, on 
 which account he was chosen by his illustrious lady as 
 the conductor of the cavalcade ; and I no sooner 
 learned this, than I was doubly anxious to set forward 
 on my journey. One morning, therefore, at break of 
 the day, I took leave of ray generous preservers, nor 
 parted from them without shedding tears of the most 
 genuine sympathy and sincere acknowledgments for 
 all the kind attentions they had so long manifested 
 towards me beneath their humble, happy, and content- 
 ed dwelling. With much difficulty I prevailed upon 
 them to accept of some token of my devoted friendship, 
 telling them, that in happier times I hoped we should 
 yet meet again, when 1 should more liberally reward 
 them than it was now in my power to do. 
 
 ' Reward 1* said honest Matthew, * for what ? I 
 dont want any, young man, for only doing my duty. 
 You were within an inch of being drowned in the waters 
 of the Severn, and it would not have been very civil 
 to have let you laid there and perish, for the want 
 of a little help to set you on your legs again. Re- 
 ward ! what does a man want with reward, when he 
 knows that he ha«^done no more than his duty? I was 
 
OR MARIETTE MOULINE. 501 
 
 rewarded when I saw the blood mounting up to your 
 cheeks again, and that you could eat a morsel of 
 what we had to give you with as good an appetite as 
 we did, and to which you were as welcome as the 
 flowers in May.' 
 
 1 now once more bade adieu to my hospitable de- 
 liverers, and though I was not much addicted to 
 personal vanity, with deep and unfeigned regret, per- 
 ceived that my absence would be greatly lamented by 
 the kind-hearted Jane, who was the eldest daughter 
 of honest Matthew, a lovely creature, just then en- 
 tering her sixteenth year, whose hand trembled in 
 mine when I bade her farewell at the door of her fa- 
 ther's cottage, and she blushed a roseate hue, when, 
 faltering, she uttered, in words of the most artless 
 simplicity, ' I shall often think of you, when 1 look 
 at the waters of the Severn, and pray that Fleaven 
 may always preserve you in the hour of danger, as it 
 did on that fearful morning you escaped from a watery 
 grave, and perhaps — perhaps^' 
 
 * Perhaps what, sweet Jane,' answered I, much 
 hurt to find that I had unconsciously, till this moment, 
 inspired this beautiful innocent with a passion which 
 it was impossible 1 could ever return, and 1 sighed 
 mournfully as she concluded her sentence of * per- 
 haps, you will, some time or other, although in a far 
 distant country, think of poor Jane/ 
 
 This artless confession, from lips so lovely, and 
 yet so pure and innocent, was more than I could bear, 
 as a man of honour and of feeling, without seeing the 
 necessity of a hasty retreat ; and the image of my 
 faithful Antoinette at that moment reminding me of 
 our plighted vows, I pressed the hand of the cot- 
 
502 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 taker's lovely daughter with no greater warmth than 
 gratitude and friendship warranted ; and telling her 
 that it was impossible that I could ever forget the 
 kindness which both her and her father and mother 
 had manifested towards me, I immediately vanished 
 from the presence of so seducing an object, in whose 
 pure and artless bosom 1 would not have planted a 
 deeper thorn, to have been made the monarch of the 
 eastern world. I had never been a libertine, even 
 when youth glowed in its warmest and happiest season 
 of all-creative fancy, and smilingly stands in all its 
 fairy charms, to silence reason and pervert, if possi- 
 ble, the cautious warning that prudence whispers in 
 our ear to beware of love, and all its sly insidious 
 snares that would tempt us to forego virtue, which, 
 once sacrificed, never returns with that sweet peace 
 again, when ber votaries have forsaken her ; and I 
 call Heaven to witness that 1 never yet forfeited her 
 protection, or felt inclined to abjure her sacred ties, 
 by even a temporary forgetfulness of her lovely, chaste, 
 and hallowed form. Antoinette being the only female 
 I had ever loved, and to Antoinette I felt well as- 
 sured that 1 should be faithful, till death alone dis- 
 solved the bonds of unutterable love between us, and 
 I was not sorry that 1 was now reduced to the imme- 
 diate necessity of ^quitting the humble abode of honest 
 Matthew, rather than have continued his guest only 
 to wound the peace of his amiable child, whose artless 
 affection for me I could never return with honour, — 
 and accurst be that man, for ever abhorred by his 
 own sex, and abjured by woman-kind, who would 
 seduce a woman's love, and betray a woman's honor, 
 without offering to her the only reparation that is then 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 503 
 
 within his power — marriage ! and if be feels ashamed 
 of doing- this, the only atonement lie can make to the 
 ruin he has made, it were better for that blush to 
 burn on his cheek than on hers. He was not ashamed 
 to bring her to sliame, and therefore should not feel 
 ashamed of rendering her justice. 
 
 I concluded these reflections not without heaving a 
 sigh to the memory of the lovely Jane, or a fervent 
 prayer for her happiness and prosperity, and that her 
 future days might pass like a sun-beam, with no dark 
 cloud to obscure its brightness, — and surely the most 
 rigid moralist could never condemn the sentiment that 
 alone excited this friendly wish towards her ; for 
 that sentiment was gratitude. For what man can 
 be insensible to a chaste passion which he has awaken- 
 ed in the breast of a virtuous female : even though his 
 heart be firmly bound to another, still he is not to 
 despise the offering, but to respect although he can- 
 not accept it. 
 
 In my journey to the camp of St. Julian, I encoun- 
 tered no incident but one, although I halted for repose 
 and refreshment at several of the neighbouring caiees, 
 where nothing but the feudal wars were talked of, and 
 the allied forces against St. Julian dreaded as the most 
 fierce and bloody battle that would ever decide the 
 fate of conquerors ensue, under the high authority 
 and command of the Emperor Jt)sephus ; and that 
 St. Julian, with all his deathless fame, now trembled 
 at the approach of the Austrian army, owing to the 
 sickness and the exhausted state of his soldiery ; ' and 
 if St. Julian falls, there will be the fall of Boheiisia,' 
 uttered mine host, who was smoking his segar with 
 bis customers, and drinking sherbet, by no means 
 
504 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 unconcerned at the perilous state of the times, which 
 promised ruin to the burgomasters, and destruction 
 to the merchants, if once it terminated fatally for 
 St. Julian ; nor could I hear of these melancholy pre- 
 sages t6 my noble and illustrious commander, without 
 apprehension and anxiety for his fate, and being in 
 the dress of a peasant gardener, no one suspected 
 how deeply I was interested in the conversation of 
 these sage and learned politicians, and I enquired 
 with an air of the most apparent carelessness if a re- 
 port had not prevailed that St. Julian was in daily 
 expectation of being furnished with fresh supplies and 
 ammunition from a petition sent to the Lady Margaret 
 Albino, and that in such a supposition he would surely 
 be able to contend, and even to defend himself, and 
 protect his brave soldiery from the attack of the com- 
 bined forces who were approaching in such hostile 
 warfare against him : to which they replied, and one 
 and all concurred in the same opinion, — 
 
 * Yes, and we believe that the Lady Margaret Al- 
 bino has not been tardy in granting the supplies, but 
 they will arrive too latt; to aid the cause of the gallant 
 hero, with whom treachery has been at work to effect 
 his ruin, for the Austrian army have already pitched 
 their tents, and encamped them on the borders of 
 St. Julian's battlements, now weak and powerless 
 from the exhaustion and sufferings which they have 
 so recently been exposed to ; and brave and un- 
 daunted as St. Julian is, how will he be able to con- 
 tend with troops, high in health, vigorous, strong, 
 and hardy, and furnished with all the necessaries and 
 the luxuries of life, warm in blood, and just imported 
 from Vienna, well paid, in the service of the emperor. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE SSS 
 
 aifld with every means and appliances to boot, through 
 all the dangers of the perilous fight. Supported by 
 their generals, the meanest hireling in the camp treats 
 with contemptuous disdain the brave soldiery of 
 St. Julian, and dares them to the field. They scoff 
 at the very name of the immortal hero, who long ere 
 this day has shone the conqueror of admiring worlds, 
 but though a hero, how is he to oppose contending 
 armies, and resist superior force ; yet, by superior 
 virtue is he alone distinguished the brightest hero 
 that ever shone in arms ! Thrice hath lie conquered 
 Bohemia's most revengeful foes ; thrice hath he pro- 
 tected our smiling laud, which, but for him, had been 
 a pile of mouldering dust.' 
 
 * And thrice may he conquer still !' repeated the 
 voices of the whole assembly ; * Let us drink to the 
 health of the Bohemian conqueror : and that success 
 may still crown the laurel of all his smiling victories, 
 and bring him once more in safety to his native land.* 
 
 ' Yet, much I fear St. Julian will ne'er see that day,' 
 echoed the voice of a grave old man, who hitherto had 
 preserved the most profound silence, though he had 
 listened, with much anxiety, to the discourse ; ' Jo» 
 sephus hath too many ministers at court, for the safety 
 and the security and ttie reward of virtuous actions. 
 Snakes ia the grass are seldom seen till they have spit 
 forth their deadly venom, which they do in secret; 
 and the enemies of St. Julian are these very snakes 
 whom I describe ; they will stab him in the dark, like 
 the midnight robber, who dares not exhibit his deadly 
 purpose when the shining majesty of heaven glares so 
 full upon him, — it is then that the hardy villain, how- 
 ever murderous his designs or guilty his intentions 
 23 3 i; 
 
506 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 shrinks beneath that glorious beam, which reflecU its 
 beauteous rays on all that moves in the influence of its 
 refulgent rays : it is the ligiit that invigorates and en- 
 livens the whole created world ; from that bright sunny 
 ray each plant and flower wakens into new beauty and 
 new charms : the melody of the birds are more enchant- 
 ing ; and the reviving verdure of the fields and the 
 green meadows more delightful to the view ; and then 
 thetransparentbosora of theocean, — does it notackuow- 
 ledge this all-glorious and all-ruling planet, that sheds 
 its bright influence on all the moving objects that in 
 creation reign ? Then is the robber and the murder- 
 ous assassin concealed ; till that setting sun is set 
 dares he venture forth on his dark mission, but awaits 
 the hour of midnight, to commit the deadly deed ; for 
 even he feels the power of the god of day, and shuns 
 it till its light is shut ! Even so, say I, are the ene» 
 mies of the great St. Julian : they will not attack him 
 in the open light, but they will steal upon him in the 
 darksome hour, when no light is seen, and he cannot 
 discern his friends from his foes ; even so will fall the 
 great St. Julian, if (e'en as 1 hope not) he will fall 
 at all. In the battle's heat he will be the foremost of 
 the throng, for he ne'er slights danger in the cause 
 of glory, who has dared so courageously to attack the 
 foe : when only in his boyish days, he conquered all 
 Bohemia's smiling but invidious enemies. Still, there 
 are some men, whose graces and whose virtues are 
 but the very chronicle of their undoing, in the esti- 
 mation of worthless men, and such is the brave 
 St. Julian.' 
 
 Thus oeased the old man, to whom every listening 
 ear had hearkened with the most profound attention, 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 507 
 
 and every tongue resounded with the note of praise, 
 and I, among the rest, was charnoed with the nature 
 of his discourse, which had given me such insight into 
 the virtue of my brave commander ; but I was dis- 
 mayed at the intelli'^ence I had received of the perilous 
 situation of St. Julian, and was determined to set out 
 as early as possible for the camp of my illustrious 
 commander, — resolved, through the very perils of 
 the fij?ht, if indeed the battle had began to approach 
 his sacred person, and to prevent if possible the 
 deadly ball, that would in secret pierce his manly 
 breast, and deprive the world of such a herOo But 
 Ijow was I to achieve this enterprising thought ? with 
 the dress of a gardener, I should not be permitted to 
 approach the ranks, much less gain admittance to the 
 camp ; and how to obtain a military costume I knew 
 not, without being suspected of having some con- 
 nexion with the array. Suddenly, however, I quitted 
 the cafee, and pursued my course along the borders 
 of the forest, at the extremity of which, only at three 
 miles distance, was the camp of St. Julian. It was 
 now nearly dark, and I could scarcely discern the 
 path into which I was walking, — yet at distant inter- 
 vals, I thought I heard faint groans, as if proceeding 
 from some object suffering bodily pain ; but from 
 whence it proceeded I was unable to form the slight- 
 est notion of. Still as 1 advanced nearer to the 
 centre of the forest, the dying moans grew percepti- 
 bly louder, and I conceived that a wounded man lay 
 there, either having been attacked by robbers, or one 
 of the soldiery who had escaped from the camp of 
 St. Julian ; and in this I was not mistaken, for having 
 gained the forest, I was assailed, kj piteous accents, by 
 
&08 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 a human Toice imploring my assistance, and I drew 
 near to a body that lay stretched full-length upon the 
 ground. The countenance I could not discern, but 
 he exclaimed, * I am a Bohemian, and a dying soldier; 
 I have received my death-wound from an enemy's 
 shot in the camp of St. Julian, and can never more 
 rise from this spot a living man. Stranger, whoe'er 
 thou art, whether friend or foe to the contending 
 armies in this bloody battle, be a friend to humanity, 
 and when I shall expire, I beseech you drag my body 
 hence, from this road-side towards the centre of the 
 wood, that my poor and ghastly remains may not be 
 a spectacle to the passing traveller, or the food for 
 ravens. There cover me with leaves, and take my 
 outward garments for thy reward.' 
 
 I almost shuddered at the task which was assigned 
 to me, yet I hesitated not to comply with the request 
 of the dying soldier, who, almost drenched with the 
 blood that flowed from his wounds, nearly covered me 
 with the effusion, as I attempted to raise him from 
 the position in which he had thrown himself : but I 
 perceived that he was dying fast, and that to remove 
 him to any great distance from the spot was imprac- 
 ticable. So I gently inclined his head on my shoulder, 
 but I had scarcely done so, when in a few minutes, he 
 was released from all mortal sufferings, having feebly 
 articulated—* Kind — stranger — I thank thee — ^for — ' 
 The sentence remained unfinished, and the poor fellow 
 breathed his last sigh with his head still resting on 
 my shoulder. The moqn was now rising, and faintly 
 gleamed on the ghastly countenance of the dead 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 509 
 
 soldier, and I found by the h»bit that he wore, tbat 
 his rank in St. Julian's army was somewhat higher 
 than a conomon trooper. 
 
 There is a respect due to the departed spirit of a 
 fellow -creature, to whose state we know not how 
 shortly v^e may be reduced, which none but brutes 
 would overlook, or attempt to violate; and I could 
 not immediately strip the poor fellow of his clothing, 
 although every moment that I remained in this situ- 
 ation was impregnated with danger, and urged the 
 necessity of instant flight. 
 
 In short, there was such little time for the nicer 
 feelings to be indulged, that for my own immediate 
 safety I was obliged to conceal the body of the soldier 
 in the forest, laying him, however, perfectly secure 
 from the observation of strangers, and covering him 
 lightly over with some branches of the trees, which 
 had been his dying request, — having taken off his 
 outward garments, and his cap which was lying beside 
 him, and in which I very quickly arrayed myself, 
 leaving my gardener's dress in the forest : and, 
 surely, after what successively followed this adven- 
 ture, it seemed as if Heaven had alone designed me 
 to meet with this poor dying soldier, since but for 
 that, Sir Orville Faulkner, St. Julian, the loved St. Ju^ 
 lian, had fallen in the bloody battle on the ensan- 
 guined plains of Morna ! 
 
 " Heavenly Powers !" exclaimed Sir Orville, half 
 rising from his seat, and gazing with the most invo- 
 luntary transport on the fine, animated, and intelligent 
 countenance of Ferdinand, " and were you then so 
 blest as to preserve the life of ?^t. Julian ? Were 
 
510 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 you indeed ttie Bohemran soldier who rushed forward 
 
 in the battle's heat, to save '* 
 
 '' A life far dearer, more precious than my own,'* 
 uttered Ferdinand, '* I was that blessed, that thrice 
 happy man. Eternal Providence be thanked that 
 gave me the habit of a Bohemian soldier, for 1 reached 
 the camp in that disguise when the battle was raging 
 between the contending armies. Alas! what appalling 
 horrors did I then behold ! whole masses of disem- 
 bodied soldiers, some pierced with mortal wounds, 
 and others dying of them, lay scattered in heaps upon 
 the ensanguined plains ! The neigh also of dying 
 steeds, who had fallen under the bodies of their gal- 
 lant leaders, and the din and clash of warlike instru- 
 ments, all together met in sad and terrible confusion ; 
 and for awhile dreadful was the combat, and fierce 
 the rage of battle! Fire, smoke, and sulphur, had 
 nearly blinded my eyes, and prevented me from dis- 
 tinguishing objects that were not immediately near 
 me ; but when 1 heard defeat — and victory pro- 
 claimed by the Austrian army, 1 rushed forward, and 
 beheld the godlike hero on the very point of falling 
 from his white charger. I was close at his side, and 
 straight he fell. But where fell he, Sir Orville ? In 
 these arms, at the instigation of Divine Providence, 
 stretched forth to save him ! in mine 1 I grasped him 
 firmly, — he, faint and powerless with the fight, — me, 
 strong and vigorous, and braced to more than mortal 
 courage, for I had borne no part in the affray, and 
 was able to su])j)ort the body of my wounded lord. 
 They saw St. Julian fall, and the victory over the 
 fallen hero was now complete. In that moment I 
 
OR, MARIETTB MOULINE. 511 
 
 bore liim hence ! — I ran, I flew, with my precious 
 burthen along the ensanguined plains of Morna. 
 Too busy with the fight, none pursued us ; and none 
 could tell the spot from whence his body was so mys- 
 teriously removed. God of my Fathers ! what were 
 my sensations, irjy unutterable transports, when first 
 he opened his eyes, and discovered who was his pre- 
 server ; and he hailed me by the name of Ferdinand. 
 1 could have exclaimed, in the words of Douglas, 
 * blest be the immortal gods, I came this day to do 
 the happy deed that gilds my humble name.'" 
 
512 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR *, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 *« So weMl live, 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh, 
 At gilded butterflies; and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news, — and we'll talk with them too. 
 Who loses and who wins,— who's in, who's out : 
 And take upon us the mystery of things; 
 As if we were God's spies. And we'll wear out. 
 In a walled prison parks and seats of great ones. 
 That ebl) and flow by the moon." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " And you have clone a deed that will live for ag^es 
 to posterity," uttered Sir Orville Faulkner; " you 
 have preserved a lii'e through, however, the inter- 
 position of Almighty Providence ; let it not then be 
 supposed that life is to be preserved by human means, 
 unless by the supreme agency of divine mercy, for it 
 is not so; but heaven permits this power to be effected, 
 and places it in the hands of some peculiar object, to 
 perform the fiat of his immediate will : and happy are 
 those higl'ly favoured beings, in whose hands, and by 
 whose means, mortals are sometimes preserved from 
 
OR, MAttlETTE MOULlNlE. 6tH 
 
 inevitable destruction, since it is certain they of them- 
 selves can do nothing", unless permitted by a superior 
 power so to do. Still thrice favoured happy mortal 
 is he who has been an earthly instrument of saving 
 the precious life of such a gallant hero as the brave 
 St. Julian ! Ah ! how I envy you, Ferdinand, the 
 glory of this immortal day ! what honours will it not 
 procure you, — what advancement may you not hope 
 from its success ! But pray let me ask, whither did 
 you bear the body of St. Julian, after you conveyed 
 him from the camp, and where did you conceal him 
 while recovering from his wounds ? Reports had 
 certainly said that he was not slain, but had escaped 
 by means of a Bohemian soldier. These several re- 
 ports, with some others, reaching the ears of the Em- 
 peror Josephus, caused him to arrest etery person 
 whom he supposed had abetted or assisted St. Julian 
 in his escape, or any having formed connexion with 
 him, or espousing his interest ; and this it was that 
 impeded the progress of our journey, when we set for- 
 ward from the castle of St. Clair, and very frequently 
 exposed both Sir Walter De Ruthen and his brave 
 followers to the most immediate danger of our lives. 
 Alas ! we arrived too late, indeed, to render him the 
 assistance that he required, and we beheld the plains 
 of Morna Penritch strewed with the gallant remains 
 of many a slaughtered hero I to me it was a sight ap- 
 palling and terrific, for I had seen none such before ; 
 and when the brave Sir Walter searched among the 
 bodies of the fallen and slain, for the loved remains of 
 liis illustrious master, and I assisted him in the 
 mournful task, I will own my soul recoiled at the 
 shuddering sights I there beheld ! it was a spectacle 
 23 3 X 
 
514 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 at which every feeling of humanity revolted. I could 
 not touch the remains of a human being;, whose ghastly 
 faces and blood-stained garment presented such dread- 
 ful vestages of mortality ; and as I contemplated 
 these sad and mournful emblems of the fortune of war's 
 rude and desolating terrors, I more than half repented 
 that I had chosen the life of a soldier ; and need I 
 enumerate to you the despair, the unutterable despair 
 which took possession of the brave warrior, Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, when after a useless search, all his efforts 
 were unayailing, to discover the remains of the beloved 
 St. Julian ; still the necessity of not continuing near 
 the fatal spot, which had terminated the glory and 
 the earthly career of the illustrious hero, became every 
 moment more urgent ; and with a mournful apostrophe 
 to his lamented and revered memory, we mounted our 
 steeds, and instantly set forward on our journey, — 
 choosing the most remote and inaccessible paths, to 
 avoid the detection of St, Julian's foes, or being taken 
 prisoner by the enemy ; still there was an indispensa- 
 ble necessity of striking into the public road, in order 
 to expedite our intended plans ; and at that moment, 
 tbou knowest, Ferdinand, that we strait encountered 
 you and the brave St. Julian, though we knew him 
 not ia that disguise." 
 
 " It is true,'* uttered Ferdinand : " we procured 
 both that and the minstrel habit, that I now wear, at 
 one of the adjacent villages through which we passed, 
 but could not have done this without the assistance of 
 a third personage, well acquainted with all our de- 
 signs, — a woman, an extraordinary heroic woman! 
 -not more famed for beauty than for intellect and talent, 
 ^hich far surpass her sex ; beneath her quiet, blest. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULl^NE. 515 
 
 and sequestered retreat, in a little lonely hermitage, 
 far removed from the busy haunts of mankind, she 
 sheltered the great St. Julian till he had recovered 
 from his wounds, and regained his bodily strength ; 
 she furthermore assisted him in this one great and 
 grand enterprise, on which again depends the fate 
 and glory of the immortal hero, and that of the whole 
 Bohemian empire. It is true, Sir Orville Faulkner : 
 a woman's hand again conducts St. Julian to the 
 field ! by her magnetic influence, hath she prevailed 
 on the great conqueror, Zosinski, to aid our cause, 
 and join his armies and call forth his allies against St. 
 Julian's foes. Soon will the grand attack be made that 
 will make a coward tremble, and a traitor fall ! Even 
 now the forces are collecting, and, ere long, the castle 
 of St. Clair will be devoured by consuming flames, or 
 fall a mass of mouldering ruins ! and Benvolio, that 
 perfidious tool of lust and murder, be dragged forth, — 
 a terrible example of public justice ! and that unwor- 
 thy woman, the base partner of his crimes, be taught 
 to beg and to implore that mercy which, so late, she 
 has inhumanly denied I Yes, she who ne'er dropped a 
 tear of pity for the fate of the miserable captives with- 
 in her power, must now shed torrents for her own, 
 when brought to justice and to punishment for her 
 crimes. 
 
 The brave Macgreggor is already arrived with all 
 the soldiery ; and safe in the battlements of St. An- 
 tonio is the ammunition bestowed : who takes them 
 thence must feel a conqueror's vengeance, and sink 
 beneath a conqueror's power. Thus far has fortune 
 crowned us with success, — and Heaven, kind and 
 bounteous Heaven ! granted the prayer of St. Julian, 
 
5}6 -¥«£> M^ft^PfiftfES OF ST. GLAIR; 
 
 and smiled propitiously on his undertaking. Another 
 day the contending armies will meet again, sword 
 to sword, breast to breast, and the loud trumpet of vic- 
 tory proclaim St. Julian once more the most resist- 
 less conqueror, and the brightest hero that ever shone 
 in martial glory ! Then shall peace wave her gentle 
 banners around the heads of our brave soldiers, and 
 love and duty welcome his return to his native land ! 
 then shall the fairest virgin in all Bohemia's smiling 
 land reward her gallant and her faithful slave with full 
 possession of all her matchless charms ! then shall 
 the daughter of the great Albino be led in triumph to 
 a conqueror's bed, and share a conqueror's glory/' 
 
 *' Ferdinand," uttered Sir Orville, a deep sigh 
 bersting from the confines of his inmost soul, *' spare 
 me, 1 entreat you, a further discussion on this subject ; 
 not that I envy the great St. Julian the rich prize that 
 he has so dearly gained, or that a hope so presump- 
 tuous has ever yet filled my youthful breast, that the 
 beauteous Augustina ever could be mine ; but you 
 know not, Ferdinand, how deep, how sharp a pang is 
 hopeless love. You were rewarded with the hand and 
 the heart of the woman you adored, — I never can : 
 an insurmountable barrier, greater than that which di- 
 vides the swelling sea from the dry land, stands be- 
 tween me and the fair Bohemian maid ! Well do I know 
 that, and submit to my destiny ; but, oh ! ye gods 
 that rule the high heavens, what man can bear, with a 
 calm philosophy, to witness the consummation of all 
 earthly happiness in the arms of another, what he 
 himself adores ? Tell me, Ferdinand, couldst thou 
 bear this firmly without one quivering sigh, without 
 one gushing tear ? Oh ! if thou canst, thou must be 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 517 
 
 made of more than mortal mould ; lor while we are 
 earthly, we must partake of earthly sensations, — feel 
 earthly wishes, — -enjoy earthly hopes, and tremble at 
 earthly fears. Ah ! would it were not so ! would that 
 at this moment I could be dissolved from earthly sub- 
 stance, and, pure and disembodied from all earthly 
 •passions, — take my flight to happier regioas, blissful 
 as the state of angels, and far removed from earthly 
 care." 
 
 " Sir, thou hast breathed a mortal's wish, and but at 
 best, a mortal's prayer," uttered Ferdinand, deeply 
 grieved that so deep and unconquerable a passion had 
 taken place in the bosom of the young soldier, for an 
 object whose heart had so long been in the possession 
 of another ; and he deemed it presumption that he 
 should yet encourage it, or vainly sigh for a forbidden 
 treasure, that not even contending monarchs could 
 possess, and which the long faithful services of his 
 great master had so richly merited from her hands, — 
 " and were you in that blissful state that you describe, 
 but have never felt, you would not thus be permitted 
 to breath a wish impure and unholy, as to desire that 
 which belongs to another, by every chaste tie of ho- 
 nourable affection. Sir Orville Faulkner, pardon the 
 freedom with which I thus^iddress you, but had I not 
 the highest respect for your feelings I should not thus 
 offer you my advice, permit me to say, my warmest 
 exhortation, to warn you of the dangerous gulph into 
 which your passions are hurrying you. You cannot 
 possess the Lady Augustina, — she is another's by every 
 tie, sacred and divine, — she is exclusively the beloved 
 of the great St. Julian : try then, to conquer, nay, 
 wholly to subdue, this hopeless pussion, which can 
 
518 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 never meet return. Think no more of the Bohemian 
 maid, or thinking of her, you will bitterly repent the 
 hour. St. Julian is doubly jealous of this treasured 
 love ; and for her single sake, has thrice vanquished 
 and subdued his foes ; while, in exile from his native 
 land, has mourn'd a life of slavery, and continually 
 bore the insult of his contending foes ; and twice did 
 the Lord Albino tender him the hand of his beauteous 
 daughter ; which, when in humble and imploring suit 
 he begged for, as the reward of all his services, proud 
 and disdainfully was his suit rejected by the Lady 
 Margaret Albino, with the further insult offered to his 
 feelings, that he never more must approach the Lady 
 Augustina in the character of an affianced lover. Nor 
 was 8t. Julian ever after this permitted to behold the 
 object of his early love. 
 
 Stung to the soul, (he f^reat warrior fled to lands 
 distant and unknown, till, in the battle's heat, he made 
 himself distinguished in bright and shining arms ! 
 IJut for whose sake did he encounter such danger and 
 difficulty ? for whom did he rush forth like a young 
 lion, armed with tenfold courage, to attack the daring, 
 proud, rebellious foe ? — And thrice hath he vanquish- 
 ed, — thrice hath he returned from the field a conqueror : 
 and once only hath he been defeated and overpowered 
 by his foes, — but by the arm of treachery only could 
 he have been subdued ; and on the plains of Morna 
 Penritch he would have fallen by it, had not Heaven's 
 own arm arrested the blow.'' — 
 
 A pause ensued to the final conclusion of the inter- 
 esting narrative of the an.iable Ferdinand, who having 
 unburthened his whole heart to the sympathising ear 
 of Sir Orville Faulkner, he thanked him, in terms 
 
 I 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE* 619 
 
 highly flattering to his feelings, lor the implicit confi- 
 dence he had reposed in his honour, and for the seri- 
 ous communications he had alForded him of ^vhat was 
 about to be effected in the affairs of St. Julian ; — 
 after which, each retired to their respective chambers, 
 and slept profoundly after the fatigues of their journey ; 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen and his brave commander 
 having, of course, much private conference together 
 after their long and painful separation. Sir Orville 
 Faulkner and Ferdinand breakfasted alone the ensu- 
 ing morning, but towards mid-day they were both 
 summoned to appear in the presence of St. Juliaa and 
 the Tartarian conqueror, Zosinski, in the great coun- 
 cil-chamber, appointed for the transactions of state 
 affairs : and noble was the presence of both the gal- 
 lant chiefs — St. Julian and Zosinski, — who, in the 
 midst of all his vassals, and surrounded by his brave 
 intrepid followers, was seated under a canopy of gold, 
 and St. Julian, on his right hand, was, at the entrance 
 of Ferdinand and Sir Orville, apparently engaged in 
 giving instructions to his gallant page, Sir Waiter, 
 to read aloud the proclamation for instant battle to 
 commence against the Emperor Josephus, provided 
 he refused the terms of treaty, (for which he had so 
 repeatedly sued) to restore those rights and privileges 
 to the citizens in Bohemia, which he had so long de- 
 prived them of: also certain and divers lands (be- 
 longing to his inheritance) which he had presumptu- 
 ously usurped, in defiance of prior claims and the 
 just rights which had descended to him from his long 
 line of ancestry. This was the first treaty made by 
 St. Julian in the proclamation, which if not complied 
 with, no quarter would be shewn, or further time 
 
m 
 
 Tim MYSTERIES OP ST CLAIR; 
 
 granted than the return of the herald ; secondly,^ St; 
 Julian accused the Cardinal Benvolio of aiding and 
 abetting the Lady Margaret Albino of emj)loying 
 spies against the government of the Austrian alliesj 
 and of concealing divers stores and monies for the pur- 
 pose of bribery and corruption, to occasion meeting 
 and rebellion in the Bohemian empire, and spreading 
 a ruin and a famine throughout the already sinking 
 and impoverished land : and he demanded a warrant 
 to arrest both these personages as being traitors to the 
 state ; thirdly, he accused the said Cardinal Benvolio 
 and the said Lady Margaret Albino of the foul inten^' 
 tion of committing and perpetrating within her castle 
 walls the unnatural and most atrocious crime of mur- 
 der, on the person of a brave young officer, (who had 
 fought with her gallant lord on the plains of Morna 
 Peritch, and who being an orphan youth, the virtuous 
 Albino had protected him) who, having miraculously 
 escaped fram their murderous designs, had now enlist- 
 ed in his service ; — and these charges being all clearly 
 stated in the proclamation, and laid before the high 
 and mighty Zosinski, he commanded St. Julian's page 
 to read it aloud to all the vassals and the surrounding 
 soldiery : desiring to know if it was not a fair plan for 
 St. Julian once more taking up arms against the proud, 
 usurping emperor, to recover his rights and privileges, 
 and also to restore those belonging to his oppressed 
 and unhappy, and miserably betrayed countrymen, who 
 had been so long held in the fetters of witchcraft and 
 superstitious bigotry, by the perfidious cardinal ; and 
 whether there were any of them who would not freely 
 join with the allies, to defend and support the cause of 
 St. Julian ; that he himself now stood forth the avow^ 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 521 
 
 ed champion of the brave Bohemian hero, and wo^l4 
 join the powerful and resistless force of all his armies, 
 to aid in battle against the emperor, if he refused to 
 comply with the terras of treaty which were b^ow pro* 
 posed to him. 
 
 Zosinski, having uttered these sentiments, sat down 
 again to collect himself ; and, lijie an experienced 
 and skilful warrior, to view, with a calm air of dig- 
 nity, the countenances of all his chiefs, vassals, follow- 
 ers, and soldiers, — to try if he could discern a feeling 
 dissenting from his own among them, and whether, 
 "with both hearts and voices, they would not join in the 
 great cause which he so firmly and determinedly re- 
 solved to espouse ; but in a few minutes the loudest 
 acclamations of applause burst from the lips of the brave 
 soldiery, and long life to Zosinski ^nd St. Julian, — and 
 battle against Josepbus, was the universal sentiment 
 th^t prevailed : all were ready, at the instant command 
 of their gallant and illustrious leader, to follow him 
 to the field, and aid the cause of the virtuous St. 
 Julian. 
 
 '* It is enough, my brave and gallant friends !" 
 uttered Zosinski, *' a soldier's word, once given, is 
 never cowardly retracted or meanly denied : it is the 
 station of honour, and a soldier never forfeits its pro- 
 tection. I have your sentiments, ray brave fellows, 
 and they are treasured in the heart of your faithful 
 leader, who never yet deserted you when proudly you 
 repelled his foes and waved his banners, in the hour of 
 shining victory. You have oft shared in the dangers 
 and the perils of war with Zosinski, — but as oft have 
 you shared in a conqueror's glory : I gave you re- 
 ward, and you gave me gratitude and fidelity : could 
 23 3 Y 
 
522 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 monarchs ask for more they themselves would be in- 
 grates to the great cause which animates them on to 
 glory. Retire, then, ray gallant followers, till the 
 herald shall return from the court of Josephus, our 
 plans are undecisive and uncertain as to battle ; the 
 event of to-morrow will determine us. Go, then, and 
 freely enjoy the pleasures of the festal banquet, and, 
 in a full ^bumper, drink to i\\^ united health and 
 success of Zosinski and St. Julian.'' 
 
 The gallant chiefs, in one loud burst of acclamation, 
 and of praise and loyalty, retired from the presence of 
 their illustrious leader : each panting to aid in the 
 great cause against St. Julian's foes, and each brave 
 and loyal breast spurning, with contempt, the malice of 
 his secret enemies ; and thrice, as they moved along 
 in slow procession from the council-chamber, did St. 
 Julian wave his hand, in acknowledgment of the ser- 
 vices they were about to render him, if required ; 
 which soon, he thought, would be brought to the issue 
 and the proof of their professions towards him, — and 
 so thought the great Tartarian conqueror, Zosinski ; 
 for the avarice of Josephus, it was well known was 
 greater than his ambition. Wealth was the god of his 
 idolatry ; and however strongly urged or just were 
 the claims of St. Julian, it was still probable that, 
 having been so lately victorious on the plains of Morna 
 Penritch, he would again be tempted to engage in 
 battle, (not aware of the powerful allies of St. Julian) 
 sooner tlian restore those usurped rights, which he 
 had so long unlawfully possessed, ^t a time when 
 monies were so scarce in his dominions ; his late at- 
 tack, though seemingly crowned with smihcg victory, 
 had pretty nearly exhausted his well-filled coffers, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 523 
 
 tbat he would refuse the terms which were so insult- 
 ingly offered to him, both Zosinski and St. Julian 
 were of opinion ; and they awaited the return of the 
 herald with no small symptoms of impatience and anx- 
 iety ; in the meantime, giving every necessary order 
 to the soldiery, and instructions to the officers, under 
 their command, to be in readiness, should battle be 
 the result of their designs. 
 
 ,, Macgreggor, the most undaunted of all the Bohemian 
 soldiers, was privately summoned to the presence of Zo- 
 sinski, and appointed, for the bravery, manage- 
 ment, and good discipline he bad so lately displayed, 
 to the command of a superior rank, to which only Sir 
 Walter De Ruthen, and Ferdinand, and Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, were appointed in a command above him ; 
 these young oilicers being immediately under the eye 
 of St. Julian, he had the power of directing them when- 
 ever they were deficient in military prowess. 
 
 *' For,*' observed Zosinski, as he sat in private con- 
 ference with St. Julian, in his cabinet of state, " we 
 are not to consider the rank or exalted station of men, 
 when whole armies are to move obedient to their com- 
 mand, and one command given improperly decides, 
 very frequently, the fate of empires ! A battle is then 
 lost on the strongest side, and the weaker gains the 
 victory without the superior force of arms: but through 
 ihe improper discipline of young, inex))erienced, and 
 unskilful officers, let us not lose the battle thus, St. 
 Julian, and it may be lost by such means as I describe. 
 Macgreggor is a soldier and a man that will not be 
 appalled, in the hour of danger, from the terrors of the 
 fight ; but these young men, though certainly brave, 
 are unused to the scenes of war; — let us, therefore. 
 
524 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ^ 
 
 placi^ ibem where we can watch over them as the 
 guardians of their safety and our own : should they 
 falter in their duty, we can animate their courage, 
 and spur them on ; but Macgreggor wants no such 
 stimulus, he does not require our instructions, but 
 is as good a soldier as either you or I ; with your 
 goodly leave, then, I will station him where most we 
 shall require his services : and in the foremost centre 
 of the battle will Macgreggor hold his rank ; we shall 
 then know where we are weakest and where we are 
 strongest, and alter our plans securely." 
 
 *' Great sir," exclaimed St. Julian, '^ you were ever 
 politic and wise in your warlike exploits ; the most 
 admired and the most experienced soldier that ever 
 commanded an army, what need thou of consulting 
 my judgment, where mine must ever fall short of yours? 
 The only reason why I wished Ferdinand to be near 
 me, I cannot forget, great Zosinski ; to his unex- 
 ampled bravery, exertion, forethought, and perseve- 
 riride, I am indebted for life — ah ! may I not add, 
 to more than life, for he gave me liberty, and what 
 is life without liberty ?" 
 
 " And truly, for the greatest act that ever distinguish- 
 ed mortal man, he merits more than mortal favour at 
 your hands,'* uttered Zosinski, *' and a time is rapidly 
 approaching, when you shall amply reward this deed of 
 valour. Yes, St. Julian, thy sun is not set, but it is 
 rising — ^the glory of the great created world ! Well 
 hast thou sustained the conflicts of thy adventurous 
 fortune, and she has wearied herself out with sporting 
 at thee ; the fickle goddess would now woo thee back 
 to her arms again ; let us not flaunt at her smiles, St. 
 Julian, but catch at the coy nymph while we can pre- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOITLINE. 525 
 
 serve her. I, like a blighted plant upon a blasted 
 heath, have neither hope nor love to sustain me in this 
 vale below ; but in you hope has not been blighted, 
 uor love torn. Oh, St. Julian ! the fairest maid that 
 ever crowned a hero's and a conqueror's bed, now 
 awaits thy return to Bohemia, to call thee husband, 
 and invite thee to the soft bosom of love and beauty. 
 Think thy fate blest among the race of favoured, 
 happy mortals, nor heave that pensive sigh amidst the 
 tumults of transporting joy." 
 
 " Great sir, 1 never yet murmured at the evils of 
 my destiny? nor e'er repined, amidst the malice of 
 vindictive foes,'* exclaimed St. Julian, " but there's a 
 fearful point to combat still, with the beauteous maid 
 to vvhom so long my faithful vows were paid. Her 
 mother and the crafty priest have, I fear, long ere this, 
 offered her up a vestal saint to the holy sisterhood in 
 the convent of Mariette Mouline, and if so, still is my 
 Augustina lost to me for ever." 
 
 " I'll not believe the maiden so unwise," answered 
 Zosinski ; '' she loves thee, and would ne'er forego her 
 virgin vows, to breathe them at the feet of cold shrines 
 and buried saints, when thy fond arms are ready to 
 enclose her in a far more gentle shrine." 
 
 " I do not doubt ray Augustina's truth,'' answered 
 St. Julian with a struggling sigh, " but she is timid, 
 and her rebellious mother is tyrannical, and she may 
 liave compelled her to accept of vows her heart dis- 
 dains. Pray every pitying saint, when I return to 
 Bohemia, that i may find it otherwise than my fears 
 predict." 
 
 At this moment the shrill-toned trumpet sounded 
 the return of the herald from afar, and it vibrated to 
 
52C 
 
 every chord in the hearts of the brave and {gallant 
 chiefs. 
 
 " Let us send forth a page to meet him," cried Zo- 
 sinski. " What wilt thou waii^er that Josephus rejects 
 the treaty you have offered to him, and that to-morrow 
 battle, victory or death, will be the order of the 
 day ?»' 
 
 To whicli St. Julian replied, — 
 
 *' It is not death I fear, thou knowest, great sir ; I 
 have braved it often, without that chilling terror and 
 that shuddering fear which prevails in half mankind, 
 at that appointed hour when the soul quits its frail 
 earthly tenement of clay, and takes its flight to hap- 
 ])ier and more blissful regions of immortality. Why 
 should I fear ? I never harmed, never injured, mortal 
 man; and in the very rage and peril of the fight I 
 have grieved me to see a fellow creature fall, covered 
 with wounds, and the life-blood gushing from his 
 heart ! then have 1 deplored the fate and the miseries 
 of war, that urges man to meet man in mortal strife 
 and mortal anger ; nay, in moments such as these, 
 great sir, have 1 envied the calm, quiet, and domestic 
 joys of the humble peasant, whose soul ne'er knows 
 ambition, or e'er sighed for earthly pomp or grandeur, 
 but who, retiring to his humble, happy home, sur- 
 rounded by wife, children, and friends, enjoys the 
 full completion of all earthly j.oys, hopes, and wishes, 
 without a thorn to encumber its balmy sweets, or cor- 
 rode its peaceful slumbers." 
 
 '' It is true that the most humble are the happiest 
 of mankind," uttered Zosinski, " but it is in the 
 power of any man to enjoy life (let his condition be 
 what he may) if he estimates the many blessings which 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULJWE. 527 
 
 Providence so bounteously bestows : but when we 
 ungratefully murmur at its decree, we are surely un- 
 worthy of sharini^ them ; still it never utterly abandons 
 us when we confidently rely on its protection.'* 
 
 At this moment Sir Edgar Foster (Ihe herald)arrived 
 with dispatches for St. Julian ; relatiuj^ first the un- 
 gracious manner in which he had been received by the 
 Emperor Josephus, who, enraged at the communica- 
 tions offered to him by St. Julian, and the terms of 
 treaty he proposed, disdainfully and imperiously re- 
 fused to accede to them, — boldly bidding him defiance 
 to commence any hostilities against him, and peremp- 
 torily denying the charges he had preferred against 
 the Cardinal Benvolio, which he plainly told Sir Edgar 
 ' Foster he did not believe, and therefore would not 
 grant the warrant he had requested. 
 
 " Now, then, there is no alternative to choose ;" 
 uttered Zosinski, " could you brook to receive such 
 insolent and presumptuous language again from Jose- 
 phus, after the fair and candid proposals you have 
 made to him, I myself, St. Julian, would condemn 
 you in shewing the least forbearance towards him. 
 Let us then to battle, and dare him to the fight, in 
 which, he thinks, you are not sufficiently armed with 
 forces to resist the attack. Defeated once, he weakly 
 and vainly imagines that you will be defeated a second 
 time on the plains of Morna Penritch, — ^but that will 
 he not find, St. Julian ; we are prepared for combat ! 
 let us then again send forth the herald to apprize him 
 of our intentions, or rather yours, for he is not aware 
 that Zosinski, his most mortal and hated enemy, steps 
 forth, your champion and your friend, to assist you in 
 this great undertaking. I am for battle, then, with- 
 
538 THE MYSTERIES OF ST, CLAIR ; 
 
 out delay, and we will pitch our tents ou the plains of 
 Morna Penritch in despite of him," 
 
 " Let, then, the herald forthwith be dispatched, so 
 please you, great sir," uttered 8t. Julian, after a 
 thoughtful pause ; for never was St. Julian an advo- 
 cate for war when he could obtain peace : he would 
 rather have wooed that gentle goddess to his arms, 
 (even in the midst of all his shining victories) than 
 have strewed Bohemia's smiling plains with the blood 
 of slaughtered heroes ; — but he was now urged to 
 the fearful combat, and insulted withal, had, indeed, 
 now no choice to make, but of boldly defending him- 
 self against the power and the malice of his vindictive 
 foes. Yet he paused on the great uncertainty and 
 peril of the fight, and shuddered when Zosinski named 
 the plains of Morna Penritch as the scene of action, — 
 for there only had his glory faded, — there, only, had 
 he ever been defeated : and it was not the place, in 
 the present crisis of l\is affairs, that he himself would 
 have chosen for such a fearful and perilous enterprize, 
 had not Zosinski pointed it out ; and to oppose him in 
 any of his designs St. Julian could not presume to do ; 
 and after a struggled sigh, and Sir Edgar Foster was 
 dispatched on his mission, he exclaimed, " Great sir, 
 I am now ready to take your further instructions and 
 advice : since battle is the word, for battle am I pre- 
 pared ; — yet pardon me if for a moment I have en- 
 couraged foreboding fears, which now are entirely ba- 
 nished by your cheering and animating presence.'* 
 
 '• And what foreboding fears were those ?" uttered 
 Zosinski with a smile, " what can a soldier fear, — 
 and such a one, St. Julian, as thou ?" 
 
 " The plains of Morna Penritch !'' uttered St. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 529 
 
 Julian with a shuddering* sigh \ '^ Great sir, thou 
 knowest that the plains of Morna Penritch have al- 
 ready been a fatal place of contest for roe." 
 
 " Dear St. Julian, let rae persuade you to banish 
 such prophetic fears," uttered Zosinski. " Thy sun 
 did not set there ; and by the great planet that rules the 
 high heavens, I will not leave the plains of Morna 
 Penritch till that great sun shall rise, in full meridian 
 splendour, on the fortunes of St. Julian. Behold our 
 burnished banners,— look at our shining arm, — review 
 our brave soldiery, in comparisoi) to which the sickly, 
 half-starved troops of Josephus are but mere puppets 
 and baby girls : and they are those only whom we 
 have to contend with ; thou knowest that the most 
 powerful allies and the strongest forces are all ours, — 
 and that they would not stir the length of a musket- 
 shot at the command of the puerile emperor. What 
 need of fear^ then, at such a moment of a soldier's 
 triumph ? who is there now in the shape of mortal man 
 that can oppose our great design ? Come, hie thee 
 to the banquet, and taste of the enlivening juice of the 
 clustering vine; beshrew me, the purple grape hath 
 yet done wonders : I know thou wilt not be drunken, 
 but thou wilt be animated, — thy drooping spirits 
 cheered, and thy warm blood circulate more freely 
 through thy veins ; then, at night, we'll buckle on 
 our shining armour, and saddle our goodly chargers 
 for the field, — our nodding plumes waving in the air, — 
 and we'll wear our beavers up, too ; no, by the im- 
 mortal Jove ! a soldier's eye should ne'er be kissing 
 the dust, but mounting, mounting, skimming the starry 
 heavens, that soon will light him on to fortune and to 
 fame. Come on to the banquet, and straight i*ll fol- 
 24 3 z 
 
530 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 low and join thee in the cup that shall be the har- 
 binger of joy, and success to the united forces of Zo- 
 sinski and Stv Julian." 
 
 " Lead on, then, great sir," uttered the now re- 
 vived and animated St. Julian, " you are the leading 
 star, to whose influence I now bend, — and at whose 
 bidding I obey. To the banquet, then, so please you, 
 and I will freely taste of the nectareous and enliven- 
 ing draught, since you will have it so." 
 
 Instantly the vassals and the pages attended the 
 presence of their illustrious lord to a superb saloon, 
 where a magnificent repast was placed on a table of 
 massy gold, with wines of the most delicious flavour 
 and superior quality ; and at this table were Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, Ferdinand, and Sir Orville Faulkner, by 
 order of the Tartarian conqueror, presently invited ; 
 where he shone in his native character of a great war- 
 rior,' not more than that of a friendly host, — whose 
 gates were never shut to hospitality, and whose god- 
 like propensities to virtuous actions rendered him, also, 
 as good as he was great. There was a timidity and 
 reserve, however, in the two young soldiers — Ferdinand 
 and Sir Orville — when they came into the presence of 
 Zosinski, which they could not divest themselves of, 
 and which, with smiles of the most condescending 
 affability, he endeavoured to banish from their minds ; 
 and beseeching them to replenish their glasses, he 
 smilingly exclaimed, — 
 
 " Do you not know, young soldiers, that you will 
 offend me much if you do not consider me, at this 
 precise crisis of your affairs, your equal : for if you do 
 not already know it, I will tell you, that when men 
 meet in battle, armed to meet death or victory, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE M'OULIWE. 531 
 
 animated and inspired by one grand principle, true to 
 each other, and loyal to the cause of the sovereign 
 whom they love, the country they worship, and 
 the God whom they adore, there is then no distinc- 
 tion of rank or quality, of exalted birth or riches ; 
 and the common soldier, whose brave heart pants, 
 with military ardour to revenge his country's foes, is 
 then on a footing with the commander, under whose 
 banners he so serves with unshaken fidelity and with 
 loyal trust. Forget, then, that you are in the pre- 
 sence of Zosinski, the Tartarian conqueror, my young 
 friends ; for in the battle of to-morrow, on the plains 
 of Morna Penritch, you will be my equals ; and the 
 head of an unburied soldier, when he falls in defend- 
 ing his sovereign against the bold usurpers of the 
 privileges and the rights of his native land, is crowned 
 with laurels of never fading victory, great as the con- 
 queror who sits o'er-canopied with gold, amidst all 
 the splendours of his regal state. Throw off this un- 
 kind and unfriendly reserve, which so veils the warm 
 sentiments of a generous hearty young soldiers, and 
 pledge me in a glass, to drink to the sucoess of to- 
 morrow, and victory to St. Julian." 
 
 " Noble, and thrice gallant chief, renowned and 
 virtuous Zosinski !" at once both Sir Orville and 
 Ferdinand energetically exclaimed ; " Now have you 
 indeed proved that you are as good as great, and as 
 truly wise : before we trembled in your presence, — 
 we unfledged nurslings of war, before Jove's great ea- 
 gle, — how should we presume to wing our flight so 
 boldly as e'er to talk of battles with one who, like the 
 god of war, has e'er bestrided them with the great, 
 powerful arm of Jove himself ? but now you deem it 
 
5^ THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR; 
 
 not presumption to talk of battle, in your warlike pre- 
 sence, we will be bold to say, that in the contest of 
 to-morrow, on the plains of Morna Penritcb, that nei- 
 ther of us Vvill shame thy favour.'* 
 
 ** I will believe the truths you utter, brave 
 youths," cried Zosinski, " and joyfully do I pledge 
 my friend, St. Julian, on the acquisition he has gained 
 in two such gallant followers of his adventurous 
 fortune.'* 
 
 And here ended the pleasures of the banquet ; for 
 other cares employed each active mind, on the forth- 
 coming event that was to take place on the morrow, if 
 that morrow should ever come,- — for bold is he who 
 shall reckon to-morrow for the anticipation of his 
 worldly affairs or to crown his earthly wishes ; for, in 
 the words of the immortal Shakspeare, thus counts he 
 on the uncertainty of to-morrow, almost exemplified in 
 every hour of man's fleeting existence to the last that 
 sends him to that bourne from whence no traveller re- 
 turns, to tell his passing tale to the fearful listener of 
 such prophetic mysteries, — • 
 
 ** To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
 Creeps in this petty space from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
 Lifers but a walking shadow,— a poor player. 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. 
 And then is heard no more. It is a tale. 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
 Signifying nothing." 
 
 and it is probable that some of these reflections, which 
 not e'en the din of arms, or the glory of conquest. 
 Could banish hence, filled, successively, the bosoms 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 533 
 
 of each gallant chief, as they lay stretched on their 
 couch the night before the battle on the plains of 
 Morna Penritch ; the army, all prepared to meet, at a 
 moment's notice, the instructions of their illustrious 
 commander, waited but for the shrill trumpet's sound, — 
 the neigh of the proud courser, and the waving of the 
 banners, bearing, in triumph, the names of the bold, 
 undaunted Zosinski and the brave, aspiring St. Julian, 
 who slept not, but, ever and anon, walked to and fro* 
 before the battlements, to inspire, by bis animated and 
 cheering presence, the brave fellows under his com- 
 mand. Meanwhile, the herald. Sir Edgar Foster, had 
 not yet returned, and the night was wearing fast 
 away. 
 
 It was a matter of some surprise to St Julian, as 
 well as of impatient anxiety, and softly stealing to 
 the chamber of Zosinski, he expressed his fears on Sir 
 Edgar's account, — that treachery had been put in force 
 by Josephus, (or some of his minions) to delay him on 
 his embassy, in order to give time for some concerted 
 measures, which might deceive them, and preponderate 
 to the advantage of the plans of their insidious ene- 
 mies. 
 
 " It is not unlikely that they have detained him for 
 the purpose you imagine," exclaimed the mighty 
 chief, " but that will avail but little, and can tend no- 
 thing to injure us, with an army so well disciphned and 
 prepared as ours, to meet the attack ; so powerful, too, 
 that all stratagem would fail to answer or accomplish 
 their designs. By my faith, St. Julian, thou encou- 
 ragest so many sickly fears, that 1 will believe thou art 
 either most marvellously in love, and fear to lose thy 
 mistress, or thy fame in martial arms. Go to, and 
 
584 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 repose thy scattered thoughts awhile, nor dream of 
 danger when it is not near. When the glowing blush 
 of morn first tints yon azure sky, expect to see me at 
 the door of thy chamber, there to arouse thee from 
 love's soft dream, to encounter rougher scenes than 
 bright enchantments from fair beauty's eye.*' 
 
 St. Julian retired, but not to sleep, for other thoughts 
 engaged his pensive mind, and strange forebodings 
 filled his soul with fearful shudderings, lest he might 
 never more behold the beauteous maid he had lovfed so 
 long in hopeless agony and wild despair ; and thrice he 
 gazed on the semblance of her lovely lineament, in a 
 small cabinet miniature, (which ever nearest to his 
 breast he wore) and thrice examined he the fond re- 
 membrance of her virgin- truth and innocence, that 
 she had sent him by the hand of Ferdinand ; and thrice 
 folded he to his breast, and pressed with fervor to 
 his lips the chaste token of her love, in a precious 
 billet of her own hand-writing, which contained the 
 following words : — 
 
 " St. Julian, dear St. Julian, — what further proof 
 can you require more of my faithful and unchanging 
 affection towards you, than what you received in the 
 holy sanctuary, when the pale moon-beams revealed 
 to you the anguished tears that fell over my cheeks, 
 at our (as I then thought) eternal separation ? Did 
 I not then plight my virgin-faith, that to you only 
 should this hand and heart be ever given ? and were 
 not angels witnesses to this vow ? — did not I kneel be- 
 fore the holy altar, and swear to heaven this most 
 sacred and irrevocable vow ? why then, my own St. 
 Julian, do you stagger at my firm faith, or doubt of its 
 being religiously performed ? why do you believe that 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 535 
 
 womjin is so frail — so false ? — Must I again repeat 
 those vows, to you so sworn in the holy sanctuary, to 
 me inviolate, that the very breath of whispering angels 
 mingled with the sighs, the tears, I then wafted to 
 thee ? must I again remind you of them ? must I tell 
 you, that the mightiest monarch, that rules o'er the 
 mightiest empire, in the whole created world, should 
 not tempt me to forego the faithful love I bear to thee, 
 my own St. Julian ? and can you doubt that tender 
 love which, ere my lisping tongue could murmur' out 
 thy name, yet owned thee for its bosom's lord ? and 
 must I breathe my vows anew, St. Julian, to convince 
 you that I love you still ? — No, St. Julian ! if you 
 will not believe my simple truth and a maiden's pro- 
 mise, cease to love me, and abjure my faith. You ask 
 me of my mother, and you tell me that I am a con- 
 vert to Benvolio's faith 1 — Ah no, St. Julian ! I like 
 him not so well ; but for my mother, — oh ! spare me 
 on that fearful theme ! I must never condemn a mo- 
 ther, however faulty she may seem : I am her child, 
 and she is my mother, — she gave me birth, and for that 
 I ne'er must speak hardly of her ; but for Benvolio, 
 fear him not, he hath not the influence you imagine, St. 
 Julian, or he had led me to suppose that you had been 
 the enemy of my great father ; and that both him and 
 my young brother had been betrayed by treachery, and 
 by which they fell, and by you — you, St. Julian ! my 
 father's favourite and my brother's friend ! and could 
 you once suppose that your Augustina would e'er give 
 credit to the slanderous tale, that St. Julian e'er 
 could wrong my father ? No ! I was assured of the con- 
 trary, nor was it possible for the power of your most 
 vindictive foes to change my opinion of St. Julian's 
 
536 .' THE MySTERlES OF ST. C^AIR ; 
 
 Ji 
 
 # 
 
 worth, — St. Julian's honour ! By Ferdinand, I send 
 you the ring* you requested ; he tells me you are again 
 going to battle. Oh, St. Julian ! whea will you be 
 wrung of this« capricious idol that tempts you on to 
 such vain glory, and idle pomp and ambition ? why 
 will you not rather seek the blessings of peace, and the 
 pure, tranquil joys of domestic happiness ? Still may 
 every good angel guard and bring you once more in 
 safety to your native land, prays 
 
 Your ever faithful 
 
 and firmly attached, 
 
 AuGDSTiNA Albino." 
 
 With this letter, perused a thousand and a thou- 
 sand times over ; and which contained the most deli- 
 cate, and the strongest testimony of woman's faithful 
 love, St. Julian consoled himself, with the sweetest 
 reflection that ever filled the transported heart of man, 
 and the flattering hope, that should the Ijattle, on the 
 plains of Morna Penritch be successful, and victory 
 once more be hi?, that even the austere and haughty 
 Margaret would not continue to refuse him the hand 
 of her daughter, or if she did that Augustina would 
 no longer be swayed by her mother's arbitrary and 
 tyrannic power, but boldly and resolutely breaking 
 through the unnatural bondage, at last consent to 
 yield her hand, where before she had yielded her virgin 
 heart, to her faithful lover. Thus did St. Julian be- 
 guile two long, tedious, lingering hours, with thinking 
 on the beloved idol of his affections, and slumbered, 
 but not slept, — cheered with love's ecstatic dream that 
 the day was notfar distant when the beauteous daughter 
 of Albino would become his bride ; but soon the sound 
 and the clanking of the instruments of war and the 
 
Ol>, MARIETTE MOULINE. *• 537 
 
 loud- toned trumpet aroused him from 'this transporting 
 thought, and hastily he arose from the couch on 
 wliich he had thrown him ; the blush of the orient 
 morning already streaked the vaulted roof of heaven 
 and peeped through the casement. 
 
 " St. Julian, awake, arise !'* uttered a bold and 
 manly voice : he flew to the door, and unclosing it, 
 beheld the great conqueror, his brother- soldier, and 
 his faithful friend, Zosinski. 
 
 24 4 a 
 
538 THE MYSTERIES OF ST, CLAIR ; 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV, 
 
 " Oh wretch without a tear — without a thought, 
 
 Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought '. 
 
 The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou 
 
 Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ', 
 
 Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, 
 
 And turn thee howling in unpitied pain. 
 . May the strong curse of crushM affection light 
 . Back on thy bosom with reflected blight ! 
 
 Oh ! may thy grave be sleepless as the bed— - 
 
 The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread! 
 
 Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer. 
 
 Look on thine earthly victim — and despair!" 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 ** By heaven, treachery has been on the alert, my 
 friend," uttered the great warrior, the very moment 
 that he made his entrance into the chamber where St. 
 Julian was. ** Some fellow from our camp, some 
 sneaking mongrel, who, with the shape of a man, and 
 the heart of a kite, has cowardly betrayed the trust that 
 was given to his charge, to lick the sordid dust that 
 supports the now tottering throne of Josephus : or, in 
 other words, St. Julian — one of our troopers, who sus- 
 tained a foremost rank in the body of pioneers, hath, 
 during the night, found means to make his escape 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINB. 53d 
 
 throug^h the ramparts ; in fact, he is a deserter, and 
 could the vile slave be found, within twenty miles of 
 the station he has quitted, instant death should be his 
 punishment, as there is not a doubt of his corruption, 
 and that bribery has induced hira to commit an act 
 disgr-aceful to himself and insulting' to me. But what 
 advantage will he make of it — except the vile purchase 
 he hath made of the monies given him by Josephus, 
 for the forfeiture of what should ever be more dear to 
 man than even life or liberty — ^his honour, his truth, 
 his fidelity to the employer under whom he serves ? 
 Can a traitor, false to a confiding master, be true to 
 aught on earth that binds man to man, by the most 
 sacred ties of integrity and principle ? No, he will 
 find that in the end he hath undone himself, and gained 
 no advantage over me; for boldly do I bid defiance to 
 any stratagem or secret power of the enemy. He may 
 inform Josephus how great our armies, and how pow- 
 erful our allies and how inexhaustible our stores : so 
 much the better ! he will then find that Zosinski does 
 not dread to meet his hated foe, or has learned to trem- 
 ble at his vengeance. We are prepared, — sword to 
 sword, and shot to shot ! — victory or death, a soldier's 
 motto ! The hour of attack, the break of morning. 
 Yes, St. Julian, when the bright god of day shall 
 pierce yon azure vault of Heaven, the word of battle 
 shall resound from tent to tent : our neighing steeds 
 well caparisoned and ready for the fight ; our soldi- 
 ery vigorous and hardy, and well trained in warlike 
 discipline, will rush like tigers to the field, and with 
 incessant firing, proclaim the word of battle throughout 
 the ranks ! Come, then, St. Julian, brother of my 
 heart, and forthwith let us sally round, and animate 
 
540 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 our brave fellows with more thaa mortal courage. 
 This day decides the fate of Josephus, and the glory 
 of Bohemia. This day shall crown with victory the 
 fortunes of St. Julian, and hurl down vengeance on 
 his hated foes." 
 
 " Great sir, at your bidding I obey," uttered St. 
 Julian, buckling on his armour, and viewing the fine 
 martial figure and warlike countenance of the Tarta- 
 rian conqueror, with the most unspeakable delight and 
 satisfaction ; for well he knew that although it was 
 not in the power of mortal to command success, yet 
 that he would do all in the abilities of mortal man to 
 deserve it. 
 
 A slight repast prepared in the banquet-chamber 
 awaited the entrance of the godlike heroes, which from 
 the lighted lamps that yet faintly glimmered, gave a 
 solemn appearance to the implements of war, which 
 here and there lay scattered about, and reflected yet 
 more brilliantly the shining armour which the great 
 warriors wore. There was a restlessness about St. 
 Julian which was not unremarked by Zosinski : he eat 
 but little of the delicacies spread before him, and he 
 spoke still less. Sir Walter De Ruthen, and Ferdi- 
 nand, and Sir Orville Faulkner, were now summoned 
 to the presence of the gallant chiefs^ to receive the 
 necessary instructions for the order of this important 
 day ; after which the most profound silence prevailed. 
 At length, softly murmured Zosinski to himself, when 
 the attendants had bowed, and respectfully retired,— 
 " Oh, Mariette Mouline ! be thou devil or angel in 
 woman's form, yet still, enchantress, by whose magic 
 spell 1 am bound to obey thy instructions, whether for 
 good or evil thou intendest it, — oh, Mailetle Mouline," 
 
OR, iMARIETTE MOUMNE. 541 
 
 (yet more firmly and energetically pronojunced Zosia- 
 ski) " yet thy wishes I obey, and should thy prophecy 
 be but propitious to the fortunes of this eventful day, 
 which thou hast augured will be crowned with victory 
 and success. Then, Mariette, thou wilt alone be mis- 
 tress of my soul ; I'll serve thee still with that devo- 
 tion which pilgrims pay to holy shrines they worship 
 and adore." 
 
 " Mariette Mouline !'» exclaimed St. Julian, with a 
 shuddering sigh, as if recalling some involuntary re- 
 membrances, most painful and fearful to his memory, — 
 " Oh, name her not, in this fearful and eventful hour, 
 lest that she come before thee in the peril of the fight, 
 in that angelic semblance as when we last beheld her, 
 on the night of the dreadful temj)est that shattered the 
 sturdy oak of the forest, and rent the adamantine rocks 
 asunder. Her dark hair in clusters hung o'er her 
 brow, white as the mountain snow ; her brilliant eye, 
 like an etherial sunbeam, in the azure sky, shone with 
 an expression almost heavenly, when on Zosinski she 
 turned a supplicating and imploring look ; beseeching 
 him to grant her suit in such melodious accents as 
 made one a])t to think that music floated through the 
 air : and how majestic waved she thrice her hand, and 
 pointed to the silver cross she wore, as the emblem of 
 her truth to thee, and the dear pledge of plighted 
 vows.'' 
 
 " Which never once have I forgotten," uttered Zo- 
 sinski, with a mournful and struggling sigh. Sooner 
 would I bare this breast to meet the dagger's point, or 
 drink the poisoned bowl, than forget the love of Ma- 
 riette Mouline ; yet it were not well to lose myself in 
 softness, with thinking on her matchless charms ; 
 
642 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 another theme must now assail a soldier's ear, and the 
 word * battle' be the only one Zosinski e'er must listen 
 to, till the fight be done." 
 
 " Sir, thou dost well to act so bravely,'' uttered St. 
 Julian ; " but all men cannot act so firm as thou. More 
 than once hath my Augustina filled my mind ; and in 
 my slumbers, while I reposed me on yon couch, me- 
 thought the lovely maid, arrayed in charms of heavenly 
 light, approached me, and like a cherub smiled : I 
 awoke, and the sweet illusion vanished from my sight." 
 A flood of tears, in spite of philosophy, or a soldier's 
 courage, gushed from the eyes of St. Julian, which he 
 hastily brushed away, unwilling, but not ashamed, 
 that they should meet the observation of the Tartarian 
 conqueror, who exclaimed, — 
 
 " Let us cease to dwell on subjects so painful, which 
 avail nothing, in the present hour, but to depress us, 
 and to render us unable to meet the conflict we are 
 about to sustain in the peril of the fight. Away, pull 
 up thy beaver, recover thy self-possession, and follow 
 me to the ramparts, where our armies are all drawn up 
 to receive instructions : then will we give the word for 
 instant battle ! The enemy is stationed in the lower 
 plains : we have possession of the higher, which gives 
 us a superior advantage over them, and this station we 
 must maintain by all the force and strength in our pow- 
 er. Come on, then, and dismiss all from your mind, 
 but a soldier's motto — * God and our native land.' " 
 
 With these words, uttered in a firm, manly, and 
 energetic tone, Zosinski led the way to the ramparts, 
 where the brave Macgreggor- had (h*awn up the soldi- 
 ery stationed under his command, in such order and 
 proper military discipline as aflbrded the highest satis- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 548 
 
 faction to bis great commander, and drew forth his 
 warmest praise. The ranks were now arranged in 
 their several positions : the pioneers marched forward, 
 as fine a body of brave, vigorous feUows as ever 
 wielded a sword in the service of their sovereign and 
 their country ; and beautifully terrific was the scene 
 before the action on the plains of Morna Penritch. 
 The sun had now arisen in fierce majesty, and gilded 
 with its golden rays the tops of the lofty mount ains ; 
 the banners of St. Julian and the Tartarian conqueror, 
 were superbly displayed, and glittered in the light of 
 that glorious and resplendant orb, which shed its mag- 
 nificent lustre o'er the face of the vast created world. 
 The air breathed of the sweets of the rising morn, and 
 blow'd freshly on the half-opening leaves of the spicy 
 blossoms of the arcacia tree, which grew in luxuriance 
 on the plains of Morna Penritch : and, previous to the 
 grand and awful mandate which every soldier's heart 
 pants to obey, the martial band began to play, inspiring 
 with animation and giving courage to the already en- 
 livened and renovated soldiery : and, when this ceased, 
 a flourish of trumpets from either army resounded 
 through the camp. Each commanding officer now 
 mounted on their chargers, and superbly caparisoned, 
 now advanced^ and took possession of their several 
 stations. The troops drew up, by order of their 
 leaders, and the powerful allies of St. Julian, supported 
 by the army of Zosinski, followed in succession, and 
 rushed like torrents down upon the plain; but suddenly 
 halted in their impetuous course, when the advancing 
 heralds, with a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed their 
 approach, — the one was St. Julian's and the other the 
 Emperor Josephus's. " Battle I" exclaimed tjiey, 
 
544 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAlIl ; 
 
 " none but battle shall decide the glory of this day ! 
 St. Julian, I am commanded to declare, that the terms 
 offered to Josephus are rejected, and in return to your 
 haughty suit, the mighty emperor has declared hosti- 
 lities against you.'' 
 
 To which St. Julian's herald instantaneously re- 
 plied, — 
 
 " And the same doth St. Julian declare against the 
 Emperor Josephus, who hath usurped his rights and 
 privileges in Bohemia's smiling land, and in defence of 
 those rights behold our armies ready to protect the 
 cause. Battle! battle! battle! all other terms he 
 disdains." 
 
 « Battle ! battle ! battle ! the offering is accepted," 
 uttered the herald of Josephus, and with another flourish 
 of the trumpets, the parley ended, and the customary 
 time given for the hour of attack was honourably ad- 
 justed by the contending armies ; both being now 
 drawn up for the scene of action on the plains of Morna, 
 on this memorable and eventful day, and both com- 
 menced, with equal fervor and with equal fury, the 
 bloodiest and the most fearful battle that was ever 
 known in the feudal wars, and the brightest and most 
 glorious victory that ever was obtained over revengeful 
 foes, and the bold invader's of the righ«fe and privileges 
 of a nation's liberty, and a nation's glory. 
 
 But fearful was the combat, and dreadful was the 
 carnage which raged with such fury on the plains of 
 Morna Penritch, on that day that many a gallant war- 
 rior's head was laid low in the dust, and many a brave 
 heart ceased to beat on the ensanguined plains, strew'd 
 with the dying and the slain. 
 
 ynable to contend with the powerful allies of St. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 545 
 
 Julian, and the magnanimous display of courage, 
 bravery, and discipline of the well managed troops 
 under the command of the Tartarian conqueror, soon 
 were they obliged to yield to a superior force they were 
 by no means prepared to encounter, or see every sol- 
 dier perish. Many of their brave officers were already 
 taken prisoners, and thousands of the stoutest and the 
 most courageous of their soldiers were either slain or 
 lay weltering in their blood, unable any longer to con- 
 tend with the powerful forces and strength of the ene- 
 my ; and victory was completed long before the brave 
 St. Julian would acknowledge that he had fairly gained 
 an advantage over his relentless foes. ** Let mercy be 
 extended to a fallen enemy," uttered he, as he entered 
 his tent, covered with blood not his own, (for be had 
 not sustained a single wound in this fearful combat 
 which had been the grave of thousands) followed by 
 his faithful page. Sir Walter De Ruthen, who had not 
 escaped in the peril of the fight : his right arm having 
 received a wound in the fleshy part which bled copi- 
 ously, and which on the first sight alarmed the fears 
 of St Julian that the victory he had gained was too 
 dearly purchased with the life of one of his bravest fol- 
 io wers. 
 
 " De Ruthen, you are wounded," uttered he, casting 
 an eye of the most tender solicitude towards him ; 
 *' let a surgeon immediately attend you. De Ruthen 
 if thou art lost, after all thy perils and thy dangers in 
 thy faithful services towards me, dearly will this vic- 
 tory be won. Let the surgeon attend thee, and in- 
 stant assistance be produced." 
 
 To which Sir Walter though somewhat faint, from 
 24 4 b 
 
546 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 the great loss of blood he had sustained, tmmediately 
 replied, — 
 
 " Great sir, the wound I have received though it 
 bleeds copiously, will shortly be better, — it is but a 
 mere scratch, which I got with the edge of a scimitar 
 of an Austrian trooper who was inhumanly going to 
 cut down a young soldier, who, no longer able to sus- 
 tain his courage in the fight, had fainted nearly through 
 excess of weakness, and escaping from the grasp of the 
 savage monster, implored my pity and protection ; 
 he is now within the verge of the camp, and I 
 bade Macgreggor to take charge of the poor luckless 
 wight till I had received your further orders how to 
 bestow him. Beseech you take pity on this friendless 
 youth, — a beardless boy, so fair and lovely that mine 
 eyes did ne'er behold so sweet a face of perfect beauty. 
 1 wonder much how he became a soldier, for his cou- 
 rage failed him when the din of arms, and shot for shot, 
 did make the battle terrible, and I saw him fall, e'en 
 though as he had been a woman, and his complexion 
 did pale to the fairest lily. *Tis a pretty boy ! beseech 
 you take compassion on him ; let him not go among 
 the prisoners which the glory of this day hath made 
 thine own/' 
 
 " It shall be ordered so," uttered St. Julian. ** Let 
 the young boy remain with us, since thou so pleadest 
 for him : take him to thy tent, and let him have food 
 and refreshment. But I pray thee, De Ruthen, bind 
 up thy arm, and go in search of my brave followers, 
 and the friend to who^e unexampled bravery I this day 
 have gained the brightest victory I ever yet achieved 
 in. martial glory, and in warlike arms ; and yet too 
 
OR, MARIETTK MOULINE. 547 
 
 ilearly purchased by the lives of thousands of brave 
 fellows, whose once fair, raanly, and well proportioned 
 forms now lay lifeless and disfigured on the plains of 
 Mbrna Penritch ; and believe me, De Ruthen, that 
 while the glory of this day hath exalted me to the very 
 height of all earthly wishes, and obtained for me the 
 brightest conquest ever known in all Bohemia's smil- 
 ing land, yet I lament the fate of my fallen friends, and 
 rejoice not in triumph over that also of a faVlen enemy. 
 Had Josephus but accepted of the terms for which I 
 sued, ten thousand of his army had this day beeii 
 spared ; but he was relentless : and I, of necessity, in 
 defence of my privileges and rights, and fhose also of 
 my oppressed, unhappy, and injured countrymfin, was 
 obliged to come to open arms, and declare hostilities 
 against him, ere I could recover them.** 
 
 ** No more, great sir,*'^' uttered Sir Walter, " no 
 more lament a tyrant's fall, nor reproach thyself witb 
 deeds which hath t4)is day made you the idol of BoKe- 
 mia, — rthyself a conqueror, and Bohemians free !" 
 
 At this moment, aloud flourish of trumpets announc- 
 ed the approach of the Tartarian conqueror, who, dis- 
 mounting from his white charger, and throwing his 
 nodding plumes aside, burst into the tent of St. Julian, 
 while he triumphantly exclaimed, " All hail to St. 
 Ju^iaQ, once again the Bohemian conqueror! Ti*e 
 victory is now decided — the enemy retreated — our 
 banners up — while we trample those of Josephus be- 
 neath our feet ! A tyrant falls — liberty is restored — 
 and the Bohemians free !J I^ congratulate thee, St. 
 Julian, brother and friend of my heart — I congratulate 
 you on this glorious, this immortal victory over thy 
 revengeful foes ! Now let us return thanks to the Gnd 
 
548 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 of battles — ^the God of ajl created nature — the God 
 whom we adore ! Yes, let us return thanks to Him 
 first, and to our brave followers in the perils of this 
 fearful and eventful day, after they have fought nobly, 
 desperately. Our loss is inconsiderable ; that of the 
 enemy immense : ten thousand of the soldiery lay 
 scattered on the plains of Morna Penritch. Some have 
 cowardly deserted their leaders, and fled ere the battle 
 was in its fury, and the rest have we taken prisoners. 
 I have given orders that their wounds be dressed, and- 
 that thoy may be treated with that humanity which 
 they stand in need of ; for we are the victors, St. Ju- 
 lian, and it is the first duty of a conqueror, to extend 
 merCy to a fallen enemy, for having fallen, he is no 
 longer such : for though we have a giant's power over 
 our foes, yet it would be tyrannous to use it like a giant 
 when they are no longer able to contend with us. De 
 Ruthen, thou hast a slight scratch, 1 perceive : get 
 the surgeon to bind it up, brave fellow. I saw thee in 
 the fight, and thou didst well perform a soldier's duty, 
 and deservest a soldier's thanks. But what thinkest 
 thou of Macgreggor ? by my good faith, ne'er saw I a 
 fellow stouter in a battle's heat, or one of such desperate 
 courage. Thrice I beheld him fall, but quicker than 
 the lightning's flash, he emerged again from the huge 
 columns of smoke and sulphur which enveloped him ; 
 and five troopers cut he down, while one only scratched 
 him on his brow, which straight recovering, he renewed 
 the fight as fresh and vigorous as ever. Ne'er saw I 
 a braver soldier, or one that handled his sword so skil- 
 fully.'' 
 
 *' But, beseech you, great sir," uttered St. Julian, 
 " tell me didst thou behold Ferdinand, and Sir Or- 
 
OU, MARIETTE MOULINE. 549 
 
 ^ville Faulkner ? for no tidings yet hath reached me of 
 their safety ; alas ! I fear that one or both have fallen 
 on the plains of Morna Penritch." 
 
 To which Zosinski replied, glancing significantly to- 
 ward Sir Walter De Ruthen, whose looks at that noo- 
 ment had assumed a somewhat melancholy expression, 
 and half revealed the mournful truth now uttered by 
 the gallant chief, — 
 
 " And so might we, or one, or both have falkn, and 
 so might thy gallant and faithful page, Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen, and so 1 feared he would have done, thrice 
 in the peril of this eventful day : but what of that St. 
 Julian, that thou marvellest at it ? It is the fortune of 
 war — the soldier's grave. It is his cradle from his 
 infancy, and the rugged nurse on whose bosom he 
 pillows his head, till the grave is his bed, or victory 
 crowning him with laurel-leaves, weaves a chaplet o'er 
 his shining brow of never-fading bloom — the star of 
 liberty, and the bright beaming sun of fame ! The lat- 
 ter picture I have drawn of the life of a soldier, and it 
 is thine, St. Julian ; beware how you repine at a fate 
 so prosperous and so glorious. Ferdinand is wounded, 
 but not mortally : he lies in his tent, wholly insensible 
 of the passing scene around him ; but the surgeons 
 have dressed his wounds, and in a few weeks he may 
 haply recover. I have §een him safely bestowed, and 
 in the hands of skilful men, who will do all that their 
 duty requires, in his present state, which they do not 
 think is yet dangerous. But of Sir Orville Faulkner, 
 I cannot give so good an account ; and truth, however 
 painful and agonizing to our feelings, must yet be told. 
 The youth is no more ! he fell in the battle on the 
 first attack, and it was a mortal shot that terminated 
 
656 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 his existence. But why grievest thou, St. Julian, for 
 the youth ? or why thinkest thou it will tarnish the 
 glory of this memorable day of thy bright and brilliant 
 conquest ? Thou didst not kill the youth, nor didst 
 thou aught contrive against him to promote his death. 
 He died on the field of honour, and it was his choice 
 and his fate, which well thou knowest doth not rest in 
 the hands of mortal. It might have been the fate of 
 thoei or I, had the high Heavens will'd it." 
 
 " He was a lovely youth," uttered Sir Walter, 
 brushing a soldier's tear that at the recollection of 
 Sir Orville's virtues had instinctively strayed down his 
 manly cheek, — "a sweet flower that has dropt into an 
 early grave, before its blossoms were half blown ! yet 
 I will be bold to say, from what I know, that it was the 
 happiest lot that ever could befal him, — and that my 
 loved commander here would have thought so had he 
 known the secret grief which fiWed the bosom of this 
 unfortunate and too susceptible young man. I have 
 dropt a tear over his untimely end, but I should have 
 shed a bitterer tear had he lived to prove the victim of 
 an unhappy and unconquerable passion for the fairest 
 and the loveliest of women, who never could be his : 
 and had he lived, what happiness for him would have 
 btten in store ? The maid he loved was far beyond his 
 reach — beyond his earthly ambition. Great sirs, need 
 I name her ? cannot you guess that the daughter of 
 Albino was the object of Sir Orville Faulkner's love ?'* 
 
 " Augustina the object of Sir Orville Faulkner*s 
 love !'* exclaimed St. Julian, a bright glow of crimson 
 Hushing his cheek, at the same instant that it faded to 
 the ashy paleness of death. Presumj)tuous, vain, as- 
 piring boy ! and did he then sigh for what e*en mo- 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 661 
 
 tiarchs could ne'er obtain. But why should I blaitie 
 the passion that 1 myself for whole lengthened years 
 have lang.uished for ? Ah ! who could gaze once on 
 Augustina, and not love her ? Yet 1 would not thus 
 the brave youth had perished.'' 
 
 " But, by ray good faith, thou hadst much rather he 
 had perished than to have lived to have proved a rival 
 in the alFections of the woman that you loved, — wouldst 
 not thou ?*' uttered Zosinski, scarce resisting smiling 
 at the impetuosity of St. Julian ; " but let us not 
 dwell on subjects not connected with the present mo- 
 ment of affairs, — the youth is gone, and peace be to 
 his remains ! — for other cares must now employ our 
 mind. In the meanwhile some repose is necessary for 
 our weary and exhausted troops ; and for ourselves, 
 after the events of this day, we must retire awhile, 
 and consult on measures that may to-morrow prove ad- 
 vantageous to our plans. St. Julian, in an hour hence 
 expect me at thy tent ; till then, farewell.*' 
 
 So saying, the Tartarian conqueror quitted the pre- 
 sence of St. Julian, and retired to his tent with his pri- 
 vate secretary, Lavalette, to give instructions for the 
 further proceedings of their military designs, marches 
 and counter-marches, on the borders of the camp, not 
 doubting but still there would be sly and insiduous ap- 
 proaches of the enemy ; by bribery (for they could 
 injure St. Julian in no other way) to corrupt their 
 troops, mereiy to obtain some intelligence of their secret 
 plans, and that Josephus, now completely defeated, 
 would try his snmll remaining strength to oppose their 
 grand design in possessing themselves of the garrison 
 and batitlements of the castle of St. Clair, which was 
 immediately the intention of St. Julian, if the Lady 
 
652 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Margaret Albino still obstinately persisted in refusing 
 him the hand of her beauteous daughter. In this case 
 only would naercy be extended towards her in mitigat- 
 ing the punishment which the atrocity of her conduct 
 had so justly merited ; but if she again haughtily re- 
 jected those proffered terms of peaceable negotiation, 
 the most desperate and compulsatory measures would 
 then be adopted, and the castle taken by storm, if they 
 would not surrender in any other way. The Lady 
 Margaret and all her vassals would then become the 
 prisoners of war, in despite of all the preconcerted 
 plans of Josephus or his now weak and powerless al- 
 lies : and what would be the fate of her presumptuous 
 minion might indeed be probably guessed. What 
 does the profaner of religion's sacred laws deserve, 
 when beneath the semblance of its loveliness and pu- 
 rity, he abjures them, by committing crimes that 
 disgrace humanity, truth, and virtue ? a punishment 
 far worse than death, although protracted by linger- 
 ing torments — the inevitable horrors which must always 
 attend a guilty conscience. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULMfE. 5$i5 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 *' Breathes there a mau with soul so dead. 
 Who never to himself hath said — 
 This is my own, my native land ? 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned 
 From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
 If such there breathes, go mark him well, 
 For him no minstrel raptures swell j 
 High though his titles, proud his name, 
 Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim,-^ 
 The wretch, concentred all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown, ^ 
 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust, from whence he sprung^ 
 Unwept, unhonourM, and unsnng.'' 
 
 Sir Walier Scott. 
 
 " GREAT sir, your orders are obeyed," uttered 
 Lavalette, *' the dispatches are ah'eady on tl cir way 
 to Vienna," as in a few hours he again entered the 
 tent of Zosinski. 
 
 " And have you guarded against treachery, biibery, 
 or corruption, in the soldiery ?" demanded the 'larta- 
 rian chief, " have you prevented all communication 
 with them and the prisoners under any pretence what- 
 ever ?*' 
 
 " I have, my lord," answered Lavalette, " done ac- 
 35 4 c 
 
5^4 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAUl J 
 
 cording to the high autliority which it has been 
 your great pleasure to invest in my hands, 'i'here is 
 no access to any part of the camp, to approach the 
 tents of the dying and the wounded prisoners, many of 
 whom have breathed their last expiring sigh while the 
 surgeons were dressing their wounds, which are des- 
 perate, and which, believe we, my great lord, has con- 
 siderably affected me, — the groans of the dying men 
 have been piteous.'* 
 
 " It were better that you had been a woman than to 
 talk thus, thou whimpering fool," uttered Zosinski ; 
 ** not but I f6el the sufferings thou describest, and do 
 not rejoice over the tate or fallen loes ; out tears uo noi 
 become a soldier. But let the sick be kindly attended 
 to, the dying treated with respect, and the wounded 
 have every assistance that our skilful surgeons can 
 afford them. Let it not be said that the Bohemian 
 conqueror e'er slighted humanity, or forgot the dying 
 and the wounded enemy, over whom he has gained the 
 victory. Poor fellows ! see that they do not lack the 
 means of help : granting to them such indulgencies as 
 the extremity of their present sufferings require. In 
 the meanwhile, give orders to Macgreggor, that some 
 of our troops be in instant readiness to march by to- 
 morrow's dawn for the fortress of St. Antonio; for 
 thither must we send our prisoners : or mark you, La- 
 valette, should they tarry much longer in the camp, 
 they may be busy with their eyes as well as their 
 tongues, — to avoid which, we must place a padlock on 
 them. You understand me, — we must have them in our 
 own custody, or there will be treachery and bribery 
 abroad before we are aware of it, and thus frustrate our 
 designs on the castle of St. Clair. Have the remains of 
 
eR, M.4R1ETTE MOULINE. 555 
 
 our gallant officers, who ha»ve fallen in this battle, been 
 tlecently interred ?'' 
 
 To which the secretary replied, — 
 
 ** All that could be found, great sir, amongst tha 
 wangled and disfigured heap, that, after the peril of 
 the fight was over, lay scattered on the plains of Mor- 
 na Penritch, have been duly atteaded to, and amongst 
 that number we discovered the body of Sir Orville 
 Faulkner : pointed out to us indeed by the exj)ressive 
 gestures of that brave young officer who bears no other 
 name than that of Ferdinand, who having been des- 
 perately wounded, was faint through loss ot blood, and 
 was lying on the ground beside him ; but quickly we 
 bare him up, and administering a cordial, found thai 
 life was not wholly extinct. He bled profusely, but 
 we bound up his wounds as well as we could ; still 
 he had no power of speech ; but with the little 
 strength he had, he pointed to the lifeless body that 
 lay beside him, and by his direction we took him. up ; 
 and by the uniform he worCy well knew that he was an 
 officer, bearing a superior rank in the service of 8t. 
 Julian, — but not one at all known to the veteran sol- 
 diery. Be this as it were, sir, we bore him to the tent 
 of the surgeons, and had every necessary assistance 
 applied ; but vain were the etforts to recal tlie vital 
 spark, which had for ever fled. He had received his 
 death-wound from one single shot, which had passed 
 through his heart ; and no human skill could restore 
 him to animation. On the which declaration of the 
 surgeons, we, after a decent ceremony, interred the 
 remains of the brave youth whose life had been sacri- 
 ficed in the service of his sovereign and his country ; 
 but we were obliged to apply to Macgreggor, for his 
 
5§(5 THK MYSTBIHES ©F ST. CLAIR; 
 
 iiaoie and his i aak in the army of the Bohemian con- 
 queror ; and tlie poor fellow, on looking on the pale 
 corpse before him, was considerably affected, and, in 
 despite of the loiigh, undaunted character of a veteran 
 soldier, he dropt a tear over the body of Sir Or\ille 
 Faulkner, whom, he informed us, was formerly the 
 page of the Lady Margaret Albino, but who having 
 scjen and conversed with the brave Sir Walter De Ru- 
 then, had inspired him with so great a thirst for military 
 ardour, that he resolved to embrace the profession of a 
 soldier, and to enlist into the service of St. Julian, to 
 which Macgreggor added the most amiable portraiture 
 of the character, n anners, and disposition of this ex- 
 emplary young mnn." 
 
 " And I grieve that he is numbered with the slain 
 who have in this tremendous and fearful battle been 
 engaged," uttered Zosinski ; " but what boots it our 
 sorrow? It is the fortune of war to perish in battle : — 
 the fate of monarchs, and the fall of empires — they are 
 all decided by bit tie. Goto: you have a woman's 
 heart, Lavalette ; nor mourn the youth departed, whom 
 when living thou rever knew ; for other cares must 
 now employ our minds. The living claim some duty : 
 vainly thou bestowept thy cares upon the silent dead ; 
 for, in the words of an admired poet, I think of departed 
 spirits as he so beautifully describes it in his Elegy in 
 a Country Church- yard, — 
 
 *' Can storied urn or animated bust 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust. 
 Or flattery soolhe the dull cold ear of death." 
 
 No, Lavalette : thou knowest they can do neither ; 
 and therefore unavailing are all our regrets over the 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINK. 557 
 
 fate of mortals who have this day perished on the plains 
 of Monui Penritch. They are at peace, heyond this 
 world's earthly space, and free from earthly cares and 
 earthly sorrows. The sojourners that remain behind, 
 are only those to whom these cares or sorrows belong ; 
 and they are in a state of action and of exertion in 
 which it is necessary for them to move, while they con- 
 tinue in a state of mortal suffering, from which nothing 
 but death can utterly dissolve them : and if this exer- 
 tion is neglected, and man is too indolent to perform 
 his duty in the path of life in which Providence has 
 intended that he should pursue, even unto his life's 
 end, it were better that he had never been born at all 
 than wilfully to shun it, or sigh fcr that in which he was 
 never designed to move, or for pomp and splendour 
 which never can be his. Go, tl>en, Lavalette, and 
 discharge thy duty in the situution in which thy des- 
 tiny has placed thee ; and content thee that it is no 
 worse a one." 
 
 Zosinski ceased speaking, and the secretary with- 
 drew to obey implicitly the commands of his illustrious 
 master ; and such repose as can visit the tumults of a 
 noisy camp, closed, that night, the weary eyelids of the 
 inhabitants of the plains of Morna Penritch ; but the 
 ensuing day was ushered in with great anxiety to the 
 gallant chiefs : for through some inattention of the 
 soldiery, who had taken guard over the prisoners, ma- 
 ny had already found means to escape during the dark- 
 ness of the night, while those who yet remained had 
 become rebellious and even insolent, although treated 
 with kindness in the hanils of those who had received 
 orders to use mildness, instead of severity, towards 
 them. 
 
558 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 " Vile miscreants ! and do they thus un^^ratefully 
 requite the- humane attentions that have been shewn 
 them f" uttered Zosinski in a voice of thunder : *' it is 
 then indeed necessary that we adopt ditferent measures 
 than what we intended. This very day they shall be 
 removed from the camp, and straij^ht conveyed to the 
 fortress of St. Antonio, wbere they shall be kept in 
 strict confinement and subjection, and remain closely 
 guarded by our stoutest and our bravest fellows, till 
 our further pleasure : till when, they shall be taught 
 to feel and to know that when a conqueror extends 
 mercy to his vanquished foes, that he will not, at the 
 same moment, be insulted with impunity, leii also 
 Macgreggor to attend, for a few moments, my pre- 
 sence : 1 have some instructions to give him, which, at 
 the present crisis of affairs, cannot possibly be de- 
 layed." 
 
 Lavalette bowed and respectfully retired, and in a 
 few minutes the brave Macgreggor appeared to receive 
 the commands and the instructions of the gallant chief, 
 who addressed him in the folio wioi^" terras : — 
 
 *' MacffrejTiror, when a brave soldier has conscienti- 
 ously discharged his duty to his sovereign and his 
 country, he merits not oniy thanks — but has an un- 
 doubted claim to the reward of his faithiul services. 
 You have displayed a courage and military discipline 
 beyond what 1 have ever witnessed in a man whose 
 rank was so obscure, and whose power was so limited 
 in command and authority ; and 1 will be positive and 
 bold enough to advance, that had you not been station- 
 ed in the foremost of the soldiery, victory had not this 
 day been ours in the battle of Morna Penritch ; in con- 
 sideration of which, Steevy Macgreggor, 1 a]>poiut 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOUMNE. 559 
 
 you to a preferment of full captain to the regiment im- 
 mediately under my command ; and henceforth, Mac- 
 greg^or, you must no longer be treated as an inferior, 
 but a brother officer— a soldier's friend, — and the faith- 
 ful follower of the foDtunes of your commander." 
 
 To have described the astonishment, the wonder, the 
 surprise, not more than the gratitude, of the brave 
 Macgreggor is impossible ; yet it was not by words 
 that his sense of gratitude was manifested, but by a 
 flood of tears, which indeed sj)oke volumes, and was 
 far more eloquent than words could possibly have con- 
 veyed, and was so well understood by the Tartarian 
 conquerer that he uresently dismissed hira with the 
 necessary instructions that he was to receive on the 
 coming morrow; which was — to set forward on a march 
 with a body of men, and of the bravest and most dis- 
 ciplined in the whole army to the fortress of St. Anto- 
 nio, there to convey the prisoners, and to await the 
 arrival of both the gailant chiefs ; and with these in- 
 structions the brave Macgreggor departed : yet, as he 
 quitted the presence of Zosinski, he wished to know if 
 all the prisoners were to depart with him. 
 
 " For there is one my great lord,'* uttered he, ^' of 
 so extraordinary and singular an appearance, that I 
 confess at times I am puzzled to know whether he be 
 male or female, so much of the latter doth he outwardly 
 display in the loveliness of his person, which is even 
 fairer than most of womankind. Yet be is but a mere 
 boy, (if he is a boy at all) for he will tremble and 
 shrink with a woman's fear at the least start and noise 
 in the camj), and shrink if any one approaches him in 
 the rough language of a soldier ; aye, and he will 
 blush too wtth all the roseate tints of maiden modes*^', 
 
5C0 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 whene'er a jest goes round with harmless glee and 
 mirthful pleasantry, as though he were in truth a maid 
 indeed. I know not what to think of this mysterious 
 boy, whose life Sir Walter saved in the peril of the 
 fight, from being suddenly cut down by one of the 
 troopers : and he is now in his tent, and truly Sir 
 Walter doth much regard him, whether for his youth 
 and beauty, beshrew me if I can tell ; but never saw I 
 Sir Walter so watchful and so attentive o'er mortal as 
 o'er this young beardless boy. When he was first car- 
 ried into his tent, he gave me a strict charge over him, 
 for he had fainted through excess of terror at the fight ; 
 yet when I approached to give him a cheering cordial 
 to revive his languid spirits, and unbutton his vest, that 
 he might inhale the fresh and balmy air, he did vio- 
 lently struggle with me in the attempt ; and did issue 
 yet more shrieking screams of terror, on the which. 
 Sir Walter, viewing him with the most scrutinizing 
 attention, bade me desist, and leave him to himself; 
 and with his own hands did he lay him gently on his 
 couch, with orders that no one should go near him till 
 he should require their services: and I also thought, my 
 lord, although I might err in the conclusive evidence of 
 my senses, that the young boy smiled, and cast a look 
 of almost undefinable expression on Sir Walter De Ru- 
 then, as he raised the pillow for his head, in order that 
 he might repose more gently ; and I thought, (pardon 
 my presumptuous thoughts ray lord, if too boldly I ex- 
 press them» but rude am I in speech and manners, still 
 honest truth will forth be coming) but were I a conju- 
 ror I should be bold to say, that this young; boy wears 
 not the semblance that he owns, and that the gallaUt 
 Sir Walter De Ruthen knows it." 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. . 561 
 
 *^ What, Mac^reggor ! and dost thou think that it is 
 a woman ?" uttered the Tartarian conqueror, and 
 snailed expressively. " Has soft love found its way into 
 a rude and noisy camp, filled with men, scarce dry 
 from the blood which they have lost and won in battle ? 
 Nay, nay : I think thou art mistaken ! a woman could 
 not have braved the perils of such a fearful combat — a 
 woman must have sunk under the fears, the terrors, of 
 such a scene as we have witnessed on the plains of 
 Morna Penritch ; thou wron^^est the brave warrior by 
 this supposition, that he would e'er have brought the 
 woman that he loved in the midst of such rude dangers 
 as men could scarce encounter — much less woman. 
 Were she the most dauntless and the most intrepid of 
 her sex, she could not have stood on the plains of Mor- 
 na Penritch without evincing some sickly fears at the 
 perils of the fight. 'Tis a poor friendless boy, perhaps 
 unused to the perils of war, and therefore he feels for 
 the young stripling. Thou loookest incredulously, 
 Macgreggor." 
 
 To which, the blunt soldier replied, — 
 
 " I do indeed, my lord, and I feel incredulously, that 
 is more, and that Sir Walter De Ruthen hath greater 
 knowledge of this young boy than thou mayest ima- 
 gine ; — beseech thee, go to his tent, where he lies sleep- 
 ing, and thou wilt mark, in silence, the actions and the 
 kindness that St. Julian's pagp doth bestow upon him ; 
 then, after which, my lord, thou shalt indeed tell me 
 that Macgreggor has deceived thee ; but if thou dost 
 not say that the boy looks more like a woman, my name 
 is not Steevy Macgreggor — that's all." 
 
 " Steevy, you are a man that would not speak with- 
 out your book, I honestly believe/' uttered Zosinski, 
 25 4 D 
 
 .M^ 
 
iG2 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 smiling' at his remark, " yet this is a case of peculiar 
 delicacy. 1 could not certainly enquire, of Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen, an elucidation of this affair, without both 
 offending' and wounding the feelings of this brave offi- 
 cer, who has, no doubt, most potent reasons for offer- 
 ing his protection to this young boy ; and thou know- 
 est, Macgreggor, that it would not be very consistent 
 with propriety, were I to ^o to thrust my nose into any 
 man^s business when occasion does not immediately 
 require it. He has, no doubt, informed St. Julian of 
 the affair, and 'although the young stranger may be con- 
 sidered a prisoner of war, and 1 could demand to know 
 wherefore this indulgence is extended towards him in 
 preference to all others Hvhom we have taken, yet 1 cer- 
 tainly will not interfere in a point so delicate as the ho- 
 nour of a soldier. Let the men be ready to march to 
 the fortress of St. Antonio to-njorrow, without delay ; 
 go and prepare them for the expedition, and to-night 
 I will give orders to my secretary, Lavalette, to pro- 
 vide you with such monies as you may require for the 
 necessities of the soldiery on the journey. Delay not 
 a moment's time in the execution of these orders ; and 
 so farewell, brave Macgreggor." 
 
 "A soldier's blessing and a soldier's prayer attend thee, 
 great sir, till perchance we meet again,'* uttered Mac- 
 greggor, brushing away a tear of the most genuine 
 gratitude, which had bedewed his cheek in despite of 
 the rough character which belonged to him. But 
 why should not sensibility be as warmly expressed by 
 a soldier, as well as any other of professional character 
 or pursuits ? But, while these reflections had possess- 
 ed the bosom of the Tartarian conqueror, far other 
 scenes h?id passed in the tent of St. Julian, with whom 
 
 -lAitii,. 
 
OK, MARIETTE MOULINE. 563^ 
 
 Sir Walter De Rutlieii had been engaged for many 
 hours in the most serious converse, on the arrange- 
 ments that were to take place on the ensuing morrow ; 
 and on his enquiries after the health of Ferdinand, Sir 
 Walter replied, — 
 
 *' He is better, my liege lord, and in the fairest way 
 of recovery ; in short, his wounds, which were by no 
 means of the dangerous tendency which were first 
 imagined, are nearly healed, and were it necessary, he 
 could instantly be removed to a place of greatear se- 
 curity, livithout the slightest danger of occasioning a 
 relapse." 
 
 " Be it so ordered, then, De Ruthen,'' cried St. Ju- 
 lian. " The plains of Morna Penritch is no longer a 
 fit place for the security of the Bohemian soldiery. 
 There are spies always on the alert to watch our mo- 
 tions while we are encamped, and to morrow we mu^t 
 march forward to the fortress of St. Antonio : there 
 lodge our prisoners of war, and from thence hasten on 
 with the stoutest of our troops to the castle of St. 
 Clair, for thou knowest, De Ruthen, there is much to 
 be contended for in that quarter . should we tamely 
 submit to see it in the hands of Jusephus, the bright 
 and shining victory we have gained over the allied 
 forces will still be ineffectual to restore the Bohemians 
 to their former rights and privileges : while my union 
 to the fairest of women will unnecessarily be delayed, 
 nay, perhaps an almost insurmountable barrier appear 
 to separate us for ever. Let us, then, be as expeditious 
 as possible, and march forward with the utmost cau- 
 tion and circumspection. What number of prisoners 
 remain in the sick ward, De Ruthen ? and what in the 
 tents?" 
 
564 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 To which the gallant warrior replied, — 
 
 ** Somewhat less than forty, ray lord, have died of 
 their wounds, which were mortal ; and about the same 
 number are in a state of recovery, and many were not 
 wounded at all, and they are those who would speedily 
 rebel against our authority, were they not kept in sub- 
 jection." 
 
 " Doubtless, ''answered St. Julian, " there are few of 
 them to be trusted and therefore we must be wary. Jo- 
 sephus is not only a serpent, but a tyrant still ; and 
 though conquered and defeated in the grand design he 
 had formed against the Bohemian territories, yet that 
 tyranny will be extended as far as he is able, and 
 therefore may yet do us mischief if we do not imme- 
 diately endeavour to counteract his designs and pre- 
 vent his approaching the battlements of St. Clair. 
 See'st not thou this, De Ruthen ? ** 
 
 " It is true, my great lord," answered Sir Walter, 
 " that I am aware that Josephus would yet be a pow- 
 erful and ferocious enemy, had he but means to carry 
 his tyranny into execution ; but his ferocity, (if I may 
 so term it) the storm of his power cannot now be 
 turned against us : or if any momentary gusts of it 
 appear, the violence of it will be spent at a distance, 
 and therefore can do us no wrong ; for consider, my 
 my lord, that he is not an object of the people's love. 
 Even in his own dominions, they fear him, but they 
 do not love him." 
 
 " All that 1 know,'' uttered St. Julian, " and can 
 that be wondered at ? How can a tyrant like Josephus 
 expect to be beloved by his people? Wherever the 
 laws are unjust^ vindictive and cruel, the people will 
 be so too ; for are not laws the formers Of our notions 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 565 
 
 and the guides of our actions, to which we look up as 
 the emanations of wisdom, and the essence of purity 
 and justice, — but when they are exerted only to oppress 
 us, and to render men slaves in authority, they can- 
 not either love or respect the tyrant who would thus 
 deprive them of the blessings of liberty." 
 
 "It is an observation too just," cried St. Julian, 
 " for a great and a good man will always act with jus- 
 tice even towards his enemy, he will not refuse the ac- 
 knowledged talents which is due to a brave soldier al- 
 though he has taken up arms against him. But a truce 
 at present to this argument, De Ruthen ; our time 
 is too precious to be wasted on the merits or the deme- 
 rits of the emperor. All we have to do is to endeavour 
 to counteract, by every means in our power, his evil 
 and malicious designs against us, and to prevent his 
 attack on the castle of St. Clair.'' 
 
 " Which shall be thine beyond the reach or the pow- 
 er of thy most malicious, envious, and vindictive foes, 
 great conqueror," answered Sir Walter, and bowing 
 respectfully, withdrew from the presence of the victo- 
 rious chief, fully determined to obey his orders, not 
 only with respect to the prisoners, but to prepare the 
 soldiery under his command to march at break of 
 morning for the fortress of St. Antonio ; and with this 
 intention Sir Walter De Ruthen entered his tent : but 
 not before his attention was directed to the sound of 
 one of the sweetest voices he had ever heard in his ex- 
 istence; but from whence it came he knew not, and 
 that it was the voice of a female he could not doubt, 
 from the softness and melody as it warbled forth in the 
 most plaintive accents, the following air, to which he 
 listened with the most profound attention : — 
 
56^ THE MYSTERIES OP ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 " I have a silent sorrow here, 
 
 A grief ril ne'er impart ; 
 It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear. 
 
 But it consames my heart. 
 This cherishM woe, this lov'd despair. 
 
 My lot for ever be — 
 So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear. 
 
 Be never known to thee ! 
 
 And when pale characters of death 
 
 Shall mark this alter'd cheek — 
 When my poor wasted trembling breath 
 
 Its life's last hope would speak — 
 I shall not raise these eyes to heaven, 
 
 Nor mercy ask for me : 
 My soul despairs to be forgiven, 
 Unpardon'd, love, by thee." 
 
 The voice ceased : but its expression and its tender 
 pathos, — its deep energy, and its soul-breathing me- 
 lody, remained fixt for ever in the heart of Sir Walter 
 De Ruthen. He listened again to hear if the ravish'd 
 sounds would come over his ear a second time, but he 
 listened in vain ; still he became rooted to the spot, 
 unable to form the remotest conjecture from whence it 
 proceeded. It was certainly the voice of a woman; 
 naught in human shape but her eould send forth such 
 heavenly sounds, or temper the soul to such softness : 
 but who was she that in the midst of the wild tumults 
 of a rude and noisy camp, among a set of rough sol- 
 diery, would have the temerity or the courage to ven- 
 ture hither ? or, if venturing hither, for what purpose 
 came she ? or what mortal to see? There Sir Walter 
 paused, and felt his cheek tinge with a brighter flush 
 of heat than it was wont to do, e'en in the battle's rage 
 of fury. Such is the magnetic and potent influence of 
 
 m 
 
OR, mahiette mouune. 567 
 
 woman over the heart of man, that he who ne'er trem- 
 bled when opposed to the threatening dangers of the 
 perilous fiii^ht, felt intimidated at the thought of en- 
 countering the glances of the bright eyes of a lovely 
 woman ; for lovely he deemed this invisible fair one to 
 he, by the enchanting strains of melody she had just 
 breathed upon his ravished ear, making night seem 
 more lovely, although it was one of the most heavenly 
 beauty ; for the sweet moon had just arisen in the wes- 
 tern sky in full resplendant majesty of charms, and, in 
 the words of the admired poet, — 
 
 " ^Tvras a lovely night >— 
 
 Heaven's blue arch sparkled with countless myriads 
 Of beaming stars that canopy our heads j 
 The silv'ry waves came dancing to our feet ; 
 The gale, rich with a thousand odours, waft 
 Bewitching music from the gentle bird 
 Who sings amid the clustering orange blossoms: 
 Then night is sweet to love and thee. 
 And all that love doth worship it.'- 
 
 And never night .«feemed so lovely, or moi*e enchant- 
 ing to the gallant warrior, than this, to his so suddenly 
 enchanted senses ; the effect of which was so instanta- 
 neous, that he could not penetrate into the mystery of 
 feelings till then unknown to him. He had heard the 
 voice of Mariette Mouliue ; but it was not her's. There 
 was more melody in it, and more soft than the deep 
 tones which came from the lips of the mountain- witch, 
 J[for by that name was Mariette distinguished) and 
 resolving that he would not leave the camp without 
 attempting to discover who this syren was who had so 
 suddenly bewitched him, he once more entered his tent, 
 which was not in the order that he had left it only a 
 f«w moments before that he had been conversing with 
 
 m 
 
 1^^^ 
 
568 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ^ 
 
 his illustrious master ; for some one had recently been 
 there — some form had pressed his couch, and some 
 unknown hand had scattered a profusion of flowers 
 over it, which diffused their balmy sweetness on every- 
 thing around : a book lay open on the table, and one 
 of the pages was marked down, which expressed the 
 following words : 
 
 " In this devoted heart love has expelled 
 All female vanity : I never wished 
 That titles, wealth, or power should bend before 
 My humble shrine — not e'en to be refused 
 For thee, the only earthly good I e'er 
 Have asked of heaven. 
 Twine me a chaplet of the mountain-rose j 
 My only pearls shall be the dewy drops 
 Which hang in clusters on its ruby bud. 
 I'll have no other coronet if thy hand 
 Place it there." 
 
 " By holy Paul, 1 will know the mystery of these 
 bewitching things !'* uttered Sir Walter, *' I will find 
 who has presumed to intrude upon the privacy of a sol- 
 dier's tent, leaving such documents as prove they have 
 the passion but not the delicacy of a woman's love, or 
 they had not tempted me thus with their soft witchery 
 which ril not listen to — though she were an angel. 
 Tush I tush! I'll have none of her ! I like not woman, 
 won before they are sought after. Yet raethinks 
 these words are pretty that she hath selected for the 
 burthen of her song — " Twine me a chaplet of the 
 mountain-rose.- — I'll wear no other coronet but that 
 thine hand places here." Faith ! my dainty queen ! 
 thou'lt have no coronet of mine to deck thy snowy 
 brows with, so come not near me, thou enchantress, 
 for I'll have naught to do with thee, — I'll have naught 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOXJLINE. 069 
 
 to do with thee. Tush ! what has a soldier to do with 
 love, I should he glad to know ?'* 
 
 Here Sir Walter finished his sonaewhat whimsical 
 soliloquy, and sat him down with his arm reclining on 
 the table : but presently he forgot his resolution, for he 
 took up one of the mountain-roses and smelt to the 
 balmy fragrance ofits blushing leaves j but this was by 
 mere accident, we will suppose, that Sir Walter done 
 this. Then he thought of the loveliness of the hand 
 who had placed it there, and by some accident or other 
 (we cannot exactly tell how these accidents occur) he 
 pressed it to his lips with a fervor and rapturous sen- 
 sation which could scarcely be expected from a man 
 who, a moment before, had made such a positive reso- 
 lution that he would not be tempted by woman. But 
 •when afterwards he placed this mountain-rose nearest 
 his heart, which beat with wild and tumultuous throb- 
 bings, we must not suppose that accident had any 
 thing at all to do with it, but inclination, which is by 
 far the strongest part of a man in spite of all the phi- 
 losophy he can boast of; and Sir Walter De Ruthen 
 began to feel the truth of an observation which the 
 wisest and the gravest of liis sex had experienced long 
 before him — That philosophy has little to do with feel- 
 ings, where that beautiful goddess, Nature, comes 
 arrayed in her sweetest and loveliest colours before us. 
 In short, Sir Walter could no longer control his im- 
 patient curiosity to discover who this bewitching syren 
 was who had so charmed, so fascinated him, and the 
 first person of whom he made the enquiry if any stran- 
 .ger, male or female, Jiad been in his tent during his 
 short absence with his commander, was of the young 
 25 4 E 
 
570 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 boy whom he had protected, and had since taken into 
 his service to wait upon him in his tent, till he could 
 provide for him in some other capacity ; and he had 
 made his appearance at this opportune moment with a 
 basket of delicious fruit, some biscuits, and some wine, 
 which he was beginning to spread on the table for his 
 master's supper, and was particularly busy in clearing 
 away the flowers that lay scattered about; at which 
 - Sir Walter exclaimed,— 
 
 " No, Myrtillo, (for that was the name of the young 
 Austrian soldier) no, Myrtillo, I will have none of 
 these flowers removed : let them remain till I can learn 
 whose hand placed them there." 
 
 " They are mountain-roses, and very sweet, so 
 please you, my lord," answered the boy, taking up one 
 of the flowers, and smelling to it, at the same moment 
 that a deep kindling blush had mounted to his cheek 
 of a more roseate tint than even that which he held in 
 his hand : " but I have heard there is no rose without a 
 thorn," added he, in the most bewitching tone of sim- 
 plicity : " Is it so, my lord ?" 
 
 *' And you have heard truly," cried Sir Walter, 
 now regarding the blushing youth with peculiar ear- 
 nestness ; the dazzling beauty of whose countenance 
 had never struck him so forcibly before. " There are 
 no roses without thorns, more than there is pleasure 
 without pain." 
 
 *^ And yet some pain is pleasure," cried the boy. " I 
 
 had a sister once who But that's her story, and 
 
 1 fear " 
 
 " And canst thou not reveal aught to me ?" uttered 
 Sir Walter, never till this moment remarking the sweet 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 571 
 
 tone of this boy's voice. " What, dost thou fear that 
 telling me all thou knowest, that I thould betray the 
 confidence reposed in me ?'* 
 
 To which Myrtillo replied, — 
 
 " No, my good lord : if 1 thought so unworthily of 
 thee, far better thou hadst not saved my life, when 
 sinking beneath the sword of the ruffian, I implored of 
 thee protection ; and after thou hast done this deed, 
 could Myrtillo think wrong of thee, I were indeed too 
 base to live. I do not fear, but I do take much shame 
 in relating the history of ray young sister, for she was 
 young, and she lovM ** 
 
 " There is no shame in that, boy," exclaimed Sir 
 Walter, unconscious at that moment that his sunburnt 
 cheeks had suddenly flushed with a colour of the bright- 
 est crimson. 
 
 " Then is not love sinning ?" enquired Myrtillo. 
 ** Ah ! my good lord, I have heard as much ; and my 
 young sister thought so too — yet still she loved, because 
 she could not help it, I suppose.'* 
 
 Sir Walter looked at the boy at this moment, and 
 imagined he had somewhere beheld a face resembling 
 such perfect beauty ; but where, in the confused and 
 present state of his bewildered thoughts, he could not 
 tell. Yet it was impossible to resist smiling at the 
 naivette and simplicity of his manner, and he uttered, — 
 
 " No, boy : love is not sinning. Unless it is per- 
 verted by improper uses, it is the brightest spark that 
 is to light us on our gloomy way in this world of sor- 
 row and of care, and the balmy drop that heaven has 
 thrown into the bitter cup to sweeten its sours, and to 
 make man or woman feel blest and contented with their 
 lot; without which how helpless and wretched would 
 
&72 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ', 
 
 have been his condition I Even though in an earthly 
 paradise of sweets, he could not have enjoyed it without 
 woman to taste of those sweets and taste of those 
 blessing^s. Wiierefore was Eve given to Adam ? Be- 
 cause a most merciful and bounteous Creator, the giver 
 of all good and gracious gifts, knew that he could not 
 exist without a helpmate to share in all these blessings, 
 and lighten all his cares ; and woman, the most lovely 
 and the most gentle of all earthly creatures, (for so she 
 should be considered) was given to his hands on these 
 conditions — That he should consider her, above all 
 others, the dearest and the nearest to his heart. Yet 
 man is sometimes forgetful of this sacred trust, and 
 often leaves this most precious gift, as a mere toy, fit 
 only for his more idle pleasures and trifling pursuits, 
 than she whom heaven itself had formed for the more 
 rational companion and the most firmly attached friend 
 of his future life. And woman would be kind — she 
 would be faithful, were man to let her be so ; but for- 
 saking that path which he himself hath taught her to 
 reverence, he has no right, being withal, or considered 
 by him, the weakest part of creation, what he (being 
 the strongest) is unabje to perform. Not that I know 
 aught of love, boy ; yet I have drawn a faint sketch of 
 Tvhat 1 think it ought to be in two hearts fondly and 
 devotedly attached to each other — so firmly that naught 
 but death could dissolve them. Now tell me the his- 
 tory of your young sister. Did she love one that was 
 unworthy of her, that you so tremble to repeat the 
 tale ? What was the history of this young sister ?*' 
 
 To which, with the utmost astonishment, and scarce- 
 ly believing the evidence of his senses, the young 
 soldier, in the words of Shakspeare, repeated the fol- 
 lowing sentence : 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 573 
 
 " Her history was a blank, my lord — 
 
 ** She never told her love, but lei concealment, 
 Like a worm i'th' bud, feed on her damask cheek : 
 She pin'd in thought, and with a green and yellow 
 Melancholy, she sat like Patience on a 
 Monument, smiling at grief." 
 
 Yet I do shre\fdly suspect that the great warrior 
 whom she so cherished and so loved, had he but known 
 the fervent passion that she breathed, would ne'er have 
 let her perish thus. Thinkest thou that, my good 
 lord ?" 
 
 " By holy Paul ! so sweet a wench deserved a sol- 
 dier's gratitude,'* exclaimed Sir Walter, gazing on the 
 fair young boy, as though he were the semblance of 
 that young sister whom he had so touchingly described: 
 " But did she so perish ? tell me, boy, what was the 
 fate of this young sister ? and more 1 wish to ask, did 
 she resemble thee ?*' 
 
 *' It would be vanity to say she did, my lord," re- 
 plied M yrtillo, blushing yet more deeply ; " but I 
 have been told that never two bean- blossoms on one 
 stalk were more like than me and Morgiana." 
 
 *' Morgiana!'* exclaimed Sir Walter, recollecting 
 at the same moment that it was the name of the kind, 
 generous, and heroic maid (the niece of Bibbo) who 
 had preserved the lives of him and all his brave soldi- 
 ery, at the sign of the queen and the three crosses, on 
 the night that they had sojourned there, while carrying 
 the su])plies from the castle of St. Clair to the camp of 
 St. Julian. ** Morgiana !*' again repeated Sir Walter, 
 " and did she go in search of the warrior whom she so 
 loved ? Tell me, boy, and tell me truly, did thy sister 
 ever journey to a far distant land, to follow secretly 
 the fortunes of a soldier }'* 
 
574 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 " I will tell thee that, my lord, only on one sacred 
 promise," replied the boy, betraying now an agitation 
 which he could no longer conceal. 
 
 '' I will promise thee any thing that thou mayest 
 reasonably require,** answered Sir Walter, " so thou 
 wouldst tell me that, and that th« brave wench be 
 living ; for if she be the Morgiana I suspect she is, 
 and that she e'er regards the warrior whom she sought, 
 e'en in the dangers and the perils of the fight, I swear 
 by the immortal gods ! — yet I will not swear till thou 
 hast told me the sacred promise thou requirest on cer- 
 tain conditions ; for 1 hold promises as sacred things, 
 boy, which never should be given unless they are re- 
 ligiously performed. What, then, do you require of 
 me that you solicit so strongly ?" 
 
 ." That you will not despise Morgiana when she shall 
 again appear before you," uttered the boy with almost 
 uncontrolable emotion ; " for oh ! it is she who has 
 followed you to the wars, and braved the perils of the 
 fight — 'tis she who despising all dangers but the fear 
 of losing thee, that — that — '* The boy could no more : 
 his fair blue eyes closed as if the messenger of death 
 had come to summons him hence. His roseate lips 
 had paled to the whitest hue ; and he gasp'd for breath 
 as if fainting from the excess of feelings, which had 
 totally overpowered him, and Sir Walter was not long 
 in offering him his assistance : he flew to his side, and 
 supported his drooping head on his bosom, quickly 
 administering him a cordial which he thought most 
 likely to reanimate his spirits ; the cause oi* which u,n- 
 controlable emotion he could not clearly define, al- 
 though in reality hv. believed that this sister was no 
 other than the Morgiana whom he had encountered at 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 575 
 
 the sign of the queen and the three crosses, on the night 
 that her uncle Bibbo was slain by some of his sol- 
 diery in defence of themselves : and if so, what must 
 Morgiana think of him ? He must appear to her in the 
 character of an assassin ; yet still she regarded him 
 with an eye of favour. There was no time, however, 
 for further reflection on a circumstance so singular and 
 mysterious, for the fainting boy required assistance, 
 and there was no one human being in the way to offer 
 it to him but Sir Walter De Ruthen, and if there had 
 been, he would not, in a ease so doubtful, have per- 
 mitted any one to have approached him but himself; 
 which the moment he did to unbutton his vest, in order 
 for him to receive the balmy sweetness of the fresh air, 
 a piercing shriek uttered by the fainting youth as- 
 tonished and confounded him : and in low and whis- 
 pering accents, he demanded to know the cause of his 
 astonishing emotion, when faintly the boy replied, — 
 
 " Oh ! let me go hence as I came, a poor friendless 
 boy, — even as thou first took compassion on my help- 
 less youth ; and even as thou supposed me first to be, 
 rather than discovering who I am. Sir Walter De 
 Ruthen may despise me, and ah ! what is worse, no 
 longer think me worthy of his protection : yet for thy 
 sake what perils have I not encountered ? what impu- 
 nities have I not borne with patience ? what difticulties 
 have I not surmounted? But I will deceive you no longer, 
 brave Sir Walter De Ruthen, for Morgiana was not 
 formed for deception : I am then even she who on the 
 night you slept at the hduse of Bibb^s &t the sign of the 
 queen and the three crosses, had the courage to warn 
 you and your brave soldiery of the fate that was sus- 
 pending over you ; but believe me not so unnatural as 
 
576 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 not to feel for the deplorable situation to which my 
 uncle was reduced when I found him lying on the floor 
 weltering in his blood, by a blow inflicted on him by 
 one of your soldiery : but think you that 1 did not 
 know that he merited such a fate ? would he not have 
 murdered you, or caused the whole of your intrepid and 
 bold followers to be murdered by the robbers of the 
 Black Forest, whom he had sheltered beneath his roof, 
 to perpetrate that cruel outrage to humanity; but 
 heaven directed, I overheard their diabolical plans 
 laid for your destruction, rnd was fortunately the means 
 of averting their dreadful purpose. You escaped by 
 my warning, SirxWalter De Ruthen, and the brave 
 men under your command ; but the house of my per- 
 fidious uncle was no longer a place of security for me* 
 Yet I did not abandon him, while he lay ill of his 
 wounds, which though dangerous, proved not mortal ; 
 and when I saw that he was likely to recover from 
 them, I instantly quitted his treacherous roof, which 
 his unkindness, and even cruelty, towards me had for 
 some length of time rendered odious to me. One 
 night, therefore, I silently bade adieu to this detested 
 abode, taking with me only a few necessaries and a 
 small sum of money which I had long retained in my 
 possession; and if I wanted more I knew where to 
 apply for it. You remember father Anselmo, Sir 
 Walter,' — the holy man to whom I directed Sir Orville 
 Faulkner to fly for refuge, in the hour of such 
 immediate danger. He is my godfather, and by 
 his sage counsel and advice 1 fled from the dishonoured 
 roof of my base aud treacherous uncle, to seek pro- 
 tection where I hoped it would not be denied to me, — 
 having purchased a dress of one of the Austrian soldiers 
 
on, MARTETTE MOULTNE. 577 
 
 then serving under the banners of the Emperor Jose- 
 phus : but this costume 1 should certainly have not 
 adopted had 1 known any other alternative to choose, 
 but it was the only attire by which, in such perilous 
 times, I could pass unnoticed : and applying to the 
 garrison, I very soon became enlisted in the service uf 
 the foreign allies. What difficulties had I to encounter, 
 and what mortifications had 1 to endure, from a set of 
 rude unpolished men ! Need I enumerate them to you, 
 Sir Walter, who already know them so well ? Yet I 
 bore them in silence and contempt, till the fearful hour 
 when I heard that battle was once more proclaimed 
 between the Bohemian conqueror, St. Julian, and the 
 Emperor Josephus, on the plains of Morna Pen rite h; 
 and I made an humble petition to one of the generals 
 of the forces that he would permit me to go with the 
 combined army, — and, somewhat surprised at the ear- 
 nestness with which I pleaded, he surveyed me from 
 head to foot : ' Well, my young soldier, since thou art 
 so desirous to smell gunpowder — beshrew me, but thou 
 wilt have enough of it on the plains of Morna Penritch. 
 Be thou faithful to the cause of the great and mighty 
 Emperor Josephus, and thy petition is granted.' 
 
 It was so. Sir Walter, and thou art well acquainted 
 with the sequel of my story, in the which, pardon the 
 simpleness with which I have told it ; but truth is the 
 herald of my tongue, and fidelity the motto of ray 
 heart." 
 
 " And have you not proved it, beyond the possibility 
 of a doubt, my brave, heroic girl ?" exclaimed Sir VV al- 
 ter, now gazing on the lovely face of Morgiana, with 
 the most rapturous delight; ** and thus 1 reward my 
 little Alexander in petticoats — not with the hand of 
 2(> 4 F 
 
578 THE aJYSTKRIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 Mark Anthony, (for you are no Cleopatra) but with 
 the hand, the affections, and the fortune of a plain, 
 rough, but honest soldier, who will protect you while 
 there is a drop of blood left in the fountain of this 
 beating heart. Wilt love me, loveliest ? for if thou 
 dost not, I'll wed no other — for, till this hour, ne'er 
 lov'd I a woman ; and with that love, 1 do beseech 
 thee to be a soldier's wife." 
 
 Whether Morgiana refused Sir Walter the boon he 
 asked, we leave our fair readers to guess, when they 
 see a man before them they so love ; but it is not likely 
 that she looked very coldly on the gallant warrior, who 
 in a very short time after this fortunate discovery of 
 her lovely sex, led her to St. Julian, in the character 
 of his wife ; by whom, after having heard in what man- 
 ner he became known to her, she was received with the 
 most joyous congratulation, and the most flattering 
 approbation of her spirited and heroic conduct, both in 
 the house of the treacherous Bibbo, and the dangers 
 she had so courageously encountered for the man to 
 whom she had yielded her affections : in which not 
 one of the soldiery so completely rejoiced in witnessing 
 as the brave (now captain) Macgreggor, who, though 
 elated with success and crowned with preferment well 
 worthy of his merit, never forgot his duty to his supe- 
 rior oificers, or was unmindful of that which he owed 
 to his brother solders. He had the same warm heart 
 as ever towards them, and recollecting his former sta- 
 tion in the ranks, was sparing of the authority with 
 which he was invested ; exercising the noblest feature 
 by which man can be truly exalted, and by which he 
 can never be debased — humanity. 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 579 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ** Our bugle sang truce, for the nigbt-eloud had lowei'd. 
 
 And the sentine].-;Star8 set their watch in the sky, 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered— 
 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die : 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
 
 By the wolf- scaring faggot that guarded the slain. 
 At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. 
 
 And thrice, ere the morning, I dreamt it again. 
 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array. 
 
 Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track ; 
 'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 
 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcom'dme back." 
 
 Soldier's Dream — Campbell. 
 
 THE sun shone in full meridian splendour on the 
 morning which was destined to behold the victorious 
 and no less gallant chiefs send forth the prisoners of 
 war whom they had taken from the enemy, and to whom 
 the utmost humanity had been extended by the con- 
 querors, to march forward to the fortress of St. Anto- 
 nio, and from thence to commence an attack, with the 
 aid of the allied forces still at their command, and 
 within the limits of their power, on the castle of St. 
 Clair; nor did Zosinski imagine it possible that the 
 garrison could hold out twenty-four hours after the 
 
680 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 attack began ; even to St. Julian he declared that this 
 was his opinion, and he was thouj^ht extremely and 
 unnecessarily cautious and distrustful when he gave it 
 as his opinion that it might require fourteen days. 
 Nor was St. Julian himself bold enough to advance to 
 the Tartarian conqueror that he was of an opposite 
 opinion with respect to the hazardous attempt they 
 were now going to make on the castle of St. Clair, for 
 he knew very well the measures that were about to be 
 employed against him, and the force that was to sup- 
 port and carry into execution those measures ; and so 
 far from appearing daunted, he determined to provoke 
 his opponents to the attack, and to make the haughty, 
 proud, and unrelenting Josephus at last sue to him for 
 terms of treaty and of peace. 
 
 At break of morning, therefore, all the troops were 
 ready to march forward* to the fortress of St. Antonio, 
 under the command of Captain Macgreggor ; and never 
 was a day of such transcen«dant beauty, or did the kind- 
 ly heavens wear a more pleasing or a more lovely as- 
 pect. Calm and peaceful was the ocean — still and 
 gentle was the breeze, which wafted a thousand odo- 
 riferous perfumes of the newly-blown flowers that 
 overshadowed the plains of Morna Penritch, so late the 
 desolating scene of war's rude outrage : but there was 
 now a cessation of its wild tumults, and naught was 
 heard but the reveling of the soldiers, or, at distant 
 intervals, the song of the night- warbling bird, which 
 in this country is so beautiful and peculiar of its kind, 
 (the larkennet) a description of which has been given 
 in a former part of this history, and its qualities parti- 
 cularly related : and all these were in their fullest 
 chorus on that day that they set forward to the fortress 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 581 
 
 of St. Antonio, under auspices every way favourable 
 to the most sanguine wishes and flattering expectations 
 of the victorious chiefs ; for their sick were fast re-- 
 covering-, the wounded healing, and the major part of 
 their fine body of troops now in the most healthy and 
 able conditinn, to renew the perils of the fight if they 
 were again called upon to perform their duty to their 
 gallant leaders. They were ready at the word of 
 command, with hearts so faithfully attached that there 
 was not one of them but would have drained the dear- 
 est drop of blood in their veins, rather than have re- 
 signed their services or laid down their arms when 
 they were expected to wield their swords in defence of 
 their sovereign and their country ; and all this both 
 St. Julian and Zosinski knew. They were aware of 
 the loyal hearts that beat towards them with such un- 
 shaken fidelity, and anticipated the brightest success 
 and the most decided victory over the castle of St. 
 Clair. In short, there was but one circumstance 
 attending this memorable victory, on the plains of 
 Morna Penritch, added to ttie death of Sir Orville 
 Faulkner, that entwined the laurel leaf with the cypress, 
 around the brows of the gallant chiefs, and that was 
 the untimely fate also of one of the bravest and most 
 accomplished generals in the whole army under the 
 command of Zosinski, whose name was Rochefacault^ 
 who having received a desperate wound at the begin- 
 ning of the action after having ably defended himself 
 and the soldiery immediately placed at his side, was 
 obliged to undergo amputation, his left leg being almost 
 shivered to atoms, and it was deemed by the surgeons 
 as the only means of preserving his life ; and the 
 general, after some persuasion, consented that the 
 
682 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. GLAIR ; 
 
 operation should be performed, but alas ! the result was 
 fatal, for in three days from this period, a mortification 
 rapidly took place which finally terminated the life of 
 one of the bravest generals that had ever wielded a 
 sword in the service of his country ; and he breathed 
 his last sigh in the presence of the Tartarian conqueror, 
 displaying a fortitude that nothing could affect, and 
 a tenderness of affection which all the anguish of his 
 wounds could not diminish. And perhaps there never 
 was a moment of more unutterable heart-rending sor- 
 row, than when Zosinski, entering the tent of St. J ulian, 
 imparted to him the intelligence that the brave Roche- 
 facault was no more^ 
 
 " Then is our victory dearly purchased," uttered St. 
 Julian in a mournful accent. " Rochefacault fallen ? 
 the bravest, the most able, the most experienced officer 
 in your whole army, great sir ! and for my sake have 
 you thus lost the brightest star that shone in the fortress 
 of St. Antonio, and who hath sustained your battles so 
 bravely and so nobly ? 1 grieve, indeed, to hear intelli- 
 gence so afflicting, — the more so when I reflect that I 
 have been in some means accessary to the fall of this 
 great man.'* 
 
 To which Zosinski replied, — 
 
 " Thou talkest absurdly now, St. Julian, for it was 
 Fate, and not thou, that occasioned that brave officer to 
 fall on the plains of Morna Penritch. He was, indeed, 
 even as thou sayest, a niost shining character and a 
 gallant officer. Brave, prudent, and enterprizing, his 
 virtues commanded the most profound respect, for 
 with the most consummate professional skill, Rochefa- 
 cault possessed the most perfect courage that ever 
 fortified the heart of a soldier, or brightened a human 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE« 583 
 
 character to perfection. He loved enterprize— he was 
 cool in danger, collected in distress, decided in diffi- 
 culties, and ready and judicious in his expedients in 
 time of action and scenes of engagement with the ene- 
 my : nor was he less eminent for those talents by which 
 a nation is served, than distinguished by those qualities 
 which render a man and an officer useful, respected, 
 esteemed and beloved in society ; for it was well known 
 that in the general intercourse of the world that Roche- 
 facault was also an accomplished gentleman and agree- 
 able companion, but above all, he was humane, bene- 
 volent, compassionate, and generous; and when exerted 
 to his brother-officers and his fellow-men, in a manner 
 that did honour to his country, by exemplifying that 
 generosity which is the peculiar characteristic and most 
 distinguished virtue of a brave, free, and enlightened 
 people; for true liberality is always extended without 
 ostentation, and generally bestowed where it is most 
 felt and least seen — upon modest merit and silent dis- 
 tress, — for which my amiable and departed friend was 
 ever remarkable." 
 
 A pause of some minutes succeeded to this eulogium 
 pronounced by the Tartarian conqueror on the merits 
 of this so greatly lamented and brave officer ; and to 
 say truth, the genuine tear of sympathy over the grave 
 of Rochefacault was dropt by the whole soldiery, not 
 only officers bearing the most superior rank, but by the 
 most humble, when he was borne to the place Zosinski 
 had determined his remains should be deposited — in 
 the last peaceful home " from whence no traveller re- 
 turns ;" and this sacred and affecting ceremony, was 
 most religiously performed by the chaplain belonging 
 to the private establishment of the Tartarian conqueror, 
 
584 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. (LAIR ; 
 
 and the funeral-service was nai)st inopressively read 
 over the beloved and respected body that was com*- 
 mitted to the earth, in the presence of all the brave 
 soldiery who had alike risked their lives in the late 
 gallant action, and whose fate, had it pleased the hand 
 of Almighty Providence, would have been similar to 
 that of the warlike hero, over whose lifeless clay they 
 were now shedding the tear of genuine sympathy and 
 heartfelt sorrow ; for, to do justice to the meanest 
 trooper under the command of the late gallant officer, 
 there was not one who did not evince some symptom 
 of sensibility at the awful ceremony: for which mark 
 of their fidelity, they were rewarded with the most un- 
 feigned acknowledgment of thanks, and the warmest 
 plaudits from their illustrious commander, who, when 
 the ceremony was concluded, most energetically ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Soldiers, you have done your duty in the field, 
 with the brave courage you have displayed in conquer- 
 ing the foes of Bohemia, — but you have also in private 
 proved yourselves christians and men, as well as sol- 
 diers, by dropping the tear of affectionate sorrow over 
 the remains of your gallant leader. I^am affected, 
 soldiers, by the loos as much as you can be, for in 
 General Rochefacault I not only lament a most able 
 and experienced officer, but a most firmly attached and 
 sincerely devoted friend ; but while I lament the fall 
 of the departed brave one, believe me, soldiers, that I 
 do not impiously implore of heaven to give him a place 
 back in these terrestrial skies, where bliss the most 
 perfect, and happiness the most happy, is but imper- 
 fect when in comparison with that which is to be tasted 
 in realms of everlasting light — where no career sorrow 
 
OR, 
 
 58S 
 
 ever more is known, and stormy passions must for ever 
 cease. Farewell, then, beloved Rochefacault, and 
 peace eternally rest with thy remains ! The tears of 
 thy countrymen now moisten them with the hallowed 
 drops that affection pours from each brave and honest 
 heart that shared thy dangers and thy toils, and wheH- 
 ever, hereafter, by chance we visit this rude place of 
 thy burial, what though no marble or animated bust 
 shall tell tny name, or in verse shall sound thy gallant 
 deeds, or recount thy shining victories — yet laurels 
 shall for ever bloom among the cypress that sha- 
 dows thy remains. Farewell, then, Rochefacault, 
 thou bravest and thou best of soldiers — ^ long, but not 
 an eternal farewell !" 
 
 At this apostrophe, made to the memory of a gallant 
 officer, a brave soldier, and an honourable man, not a 
 soldier's eye was dry, as in slow and melancholy pro- 
 cession they moved from the place of interment, at 
 which the invalid officers had even solicited to be pre- 
 sent ; and among these the brave Ferdinand, whose 
 wounds were nearly healed, begged permission of his 
 illustrious commander that he might be conveyed from 
 the sick ward, in order that he might witness the fune- 
 ral obsequies performed over the body of General 
 Rochefacault, whose gallant actions had given a place 
 in every soldier's breast which could not easily be ob- 
 literated : and this request being made known to St. 
 Julian, it was immediately complied with, — containing 
 only the prohibition that he (being an invalid) would 
 not remain longer on the ground than was absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 And the ensuing morning, at sunrise, the whole 
 army that was encamped on the plains of Morna Pen- 
 26 4 G 
 
5^ TH£ MYSTIlRIBI OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 ritch, was in readiness to march forward to tlie fortress 
 of St. Autonio. The fair bride of Sir Walter De llu- 
 then chose rather to accompany her brave husband, 
 mounted on one of the Austrian horses, which was one 
 of the most beautiful and gentlest of its kind, which had 
 been taken in battle after its master was shot under 
 bira, than journey in the caravan which was to precede 
 them, with the rich laden stores and ammunition also 
 taken from the enemy, who, in their defeat, had left 
 tliem in full possession of the victorious chiefs — glad 
 enough to make their escape, without thinking of the 
 treasures they had left behind them. And on the back 
 of this beautiful charger was Morgiana, the now lovely 
 wife of Sir Walter De Iluthen, mounted : and never 
 a finer female figure appeared, (for she was now attired 
 in a habit which no longer disguised the fine propor- 
 tions of her form, which she had contrived to preserve 
 during air the dangers and the dreadful conflicts to 
 which, in the dress of an Austrian trooper, she had 
 been exposed, in following the fortunesof the brave war- 
 rior that she loved) ; and there were none of the soldiery 
 but beheld this exalted and heroic female but with sen- 
 timents of the most enthusiastic admiration almost ap- 
 proaching to veneration ; for they knew what perils 
 she must have encountered — what terror she must have 
 endured — and what woman's fears and delicate appre- 
 hensions she must have silently and indignantly suffer- 
 ed, in witnessing the dreadful scene of war and carnage 
 on the plains of Morna Penritch ; and yet she had 
 braved them all iu search of the man to whom, before 
 he knew it, she had yielded her virgin-heart ; and the 
 soldiers gloried that such a female was to be found 
 amidst the puerile and weak race of her sex, and the 
 
^ OR, MARIETTE MOIILINF,. 58»^ 
 
 name of Morj^iana had been toasted the morncnt that 
 they discovered who she was, and for whose sake she 
 had endured so many perils, and more especially by the 
 ])arty whose lives she had so miraculously }3reserved 
 in the house of Bibbo Gracio, on the nij^ht they were 
 conveyinjy the supplies to the camp of St. Julian. They 
 remembered by whose means they had been preserved 
 from the hands of the robbers of the Black Forest, and 
 whose courage and magnanimity had so generously 
 been displayed on that ])eri»lous occasion : thf*y there- 
 fore almost worshipped the fair Morgiana when the 
 discovery took place that she was no longer the hand- 
 some young soldier whose uncommon beauty of both 
 features and countenance had often attracted the ob- 
 servation of the soldiery towards him. Mis sudden 
 transformation, therefore, into the lovely form of wo- 
 man was as pleasing as unexpected ; and they hailed 
 her with no less rapturous and joyous congratulations, 
 when they beheld her in the character of Sir Walter's 
 bride ; who, on the day of his marriage with his charm- 
 ing little heroine, gave a very liberal mark of iiis bounty 
 to each of the brave fellows who had wished him long 
 life and happiness with his beautiful bride. 
 
 The two armies having set forward on their march, 
 under the direction of the gallant leaders, Zosinski and 
 St. Julian, met with no impediment in their way till- 
 they reached the fortress of St. Antonio, in the most 
 perfect safety, and found that the utmost security pre- 
 vailed beneath its battlements. Captain Macgreggor, 
 and the parly over whom he held command, had al- 
 ready preceded his illustrious masters, and u)ost faith- 
 fully dischari^ed the high authority with which he was 
 invested, and had bestowetl all the prisoners of war in 
 
588 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 apartments which, though perfectly commodious and 
 rendered comfortable for tht^ir reception, were yet 
 strons^ly guarded and doubly barricadoed, so that all 
 means of escape was on every side rendered impracti- 
 cable, either by stratagem or design ; all fire-arms or 
 other means of acting with treachery towards them 
 being, by the vigilance of the brave Macgreggor, 
 placed beyond their reach. Naught remained, for 
 these unfortunate men, therefore, but patience in their 
 captivity, rnd the most perfect resignation to their fate ; 
 which, however mortifying and even galling to the 
 feelings of the principal officers, some of whom were 
 of superior rank, might yet have been aggravated by 
 sufferings far more severe, had they not fallen into such 
 hands as the gallant conquerors, Zosinski and St. Ju- 
 lian, whose property was ever to extend mercy and to 
 show kindness to a fallen foe ; noc would they have 
 been so closely guarded had they not, while in camp, 
 betrayed such marks of a mutinous and revengeful 
 disposition ; but in all else they were treated with 
 respect, and, by the peremptory command of the great 
 Tartarian conqueror, every indulgence, save that of 
 liberty, was granted to them in their sad and unfortu- 
 nate destiny : the best of food prepared for their pa- 
 late, and books and music even procured to relieve their 
 minds from brooding over the intolerable burthen of 
 confinement. In short, although prisoners, there was 
 nothing besides that they could reasonably complain of, 
 from the clemency, justice, and humanity which was 
 extended towards them by the generous conquerors. 
 On the arrival of the gallant chiefs at the fortress, 
 Captain Macgreggor presented himself before the pre- 
 sence of his illustrious master, and giving him a 
 
 m 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINK. 589 
 
 sealed packet, informed liim by what means it bad 
 come into bis possesssion, tbe second day that they 
 had marched from the plains of Morna Penritch, and 
 he related it in the following words : — 
 
 " We had marched forward by break of the morning-, 
 my lord, and I used the utmost expedition with the 
 soldiery to «^et clear of the plains of Morna Penritch, 
 about the skirts of which I did not know but some of the 
 enemy mig^ht still be skulking, in order to try if they 
 could not contrive to get a sight of the prisoners, and 
 by this means hold some communication with them ; 
 but this danger I prevented by turning our horses' 
 heads in an opposite direction, and completely frustrat- 
 ing their designs, if any such they had against us. So, 
 please you, my lord, 1 made a bit of a start over the 
 mountains, and seeing that we were quite out of the 
 neck of danger, I gave the poor fellows leave to halt a 
 little, and take a morsel or so, just by way of recruiting 
 their spirits ; so, while tliey were snapping it up, lika 
 so many hungry lions, I rested my arms beneath the 
 shade of a cypress tree which, with one or two more 
 that grew bepide of the mountain -stream, kept us from 
 the rays of the burning sun : well, my lord, I was just 
 beginning to follow the example of my men, who, also 
 resting on their arms, were stationed but at a very small 
 distance from me when as I was going to swallow a 
 bit of my bufi\ilo, out started from beneath the branches 
 of one of the cypresses a woman of the wildest kind I 
 think I ever saw in all my born days ; by St. Peter ! 
 I was not much given to fear, but she would have 
 scared the very devil himself, had he been there to 
 have seen her wild eyes and her haggard cheeks, and 
 her dark hair all flowing loose about her bosom, which 
 
590 THK MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 by good faith ! had no covering on (o shield it from 
 the bitter blast, or the keen blowing winds of winter 
 storms, or the forked lightning's glare. Yet, I do re- 
 member, it was as white as the mountain snow, — ind 
 so were her arms that were crossed over it : and then 
 1 looked at her face — but, by the mass ! 1 never took 
 another glance, my good lord, for she had the eyes of 
 a rattle-snake, which, when she fixt them on me, seem- 
 ed to have the power of a witch, or something of that 
 sort ; for though 1 was afraid of her, still 1 could not 
 run away from her, for tlie life and the soul of me. 
 Well, I waited a little to see what she had got to say 
 to me, befere 1 had said any thing to her,— and at 
 length she uttered, in a kind of hollow tone, (I think I 
 hear it now, it was so frightful and so piteous) — 
 
 * You have been in battle — and successful.' 
 
 * Y'cs, thank the Fates,' answered I, not seeing that 
 I had much to fear now that she had opened her nrouth ; 
 for never trust me, my good lord, if I did not take this 
 woman to be the ghost of some departed spirit from 
 the other world : so says I again, ' Thank the Fates.' 
 
 ' Thank the fates !' repeated she, * thank me. 'Twas 
 I that caused the battle on the plains of Morna Pen- 
 ritch, and made the victory Zosinski's, which never 
 could be won without my power, which is invincible, 
 both on sea and on land. 1 am every where — and yet 
 no one finds me where I ought to be. I am a prophe- 
 tess — yet, telling the fates of others, do not know my 
 own.' 
 
 * I believe you are a ghost,* cried I, now determined 
 that I would not stand in fear of her, though, by the 
 mass ! my good lord, I trembled every limb of me. On 
 which she contemptuously replied,— 
 
Ott, MARIETTE MOUI-INE. 591 
 
 * A ghost ! thou art a fool ! That which thou callest 
 a ghost has neither flesh nor blood ; I am composed of 
 both, and am therefore earthly. Would I were not 
 so — I should be free of eorthly care.' 
 
 ' Well, lady, I will no( question thy authority, in this 
 particular,* answered I, * because I am not gifted with 
 thy learning ; but I'd rather be a fool, even as thou 
 sayest, than search into mysteries which none but 
 Heaven doth truly know ; but if thou art indeed a pro- 
 phetess, tell me, I pray thee, if again fortune shall 
 crown with success Zosinski and St. Julian.' 
 
 * That were to tell thee all I know,* uttered she ; 
 ' the which should I reveal to mortal knowledge, the 
 charm I hold would instantly be broken, and 1 no more 
 could tell the fate of mortals with impunity.' 
 
 Then wherefore troublest thou me,' answered i, with 
 a blunt soldier's roughness, for I did not much like this 
 evil thing, my good lord, so I bade her begone and 
 leave me. 
 
 At which, my lord, she smiled and uttered, — 
 
 * I will begone when it best shall suit my pleasure ; 
 and though thou art the surliest knave that e'er I saw, 
 yet I like thee not the less for thy sincerity which is 
 better than flattery, that meaneth deceit and dealeth 
 with folly. Thou lovest Zosinski and St. Julian, dost 
 thou not ?' 
 
 ' Both do I love, — thou hast said rightly,' answered 
 I ; * and both would I serve for evermore with truth 
 and loyalty. What more dost thou require to know ?' 
 
 * Grant me thy aid, and I will require nothing more 
 till perchance we meet again,' uttered she. * Into the 
 hands of Zosinski deliver this sealed packet: he will 
 know from whom it comes. The doing this, whoe'er 
 
 '■%: 
 
592 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 thou art, will bind me in the eternal bonds of obliga- 
 tion ; and thou wilt find, at an hour when thou least 
 expectest it, that Mariette Mouline will not be ungrate- 
 ful for the favour thou hast done for her.' 
 
 ' Mariette Mouline !' uttered I : ' and art thou, in- 
 deed, the famed she who spreads terror and destruc- 
 tion on all around ? art thou her whom all fear, and yet 
 all reverence, and love, and obey ?* 
 
 ' I am even she who delighteth to do good, and 
 would shun the path that is evil,' uttered she. * I have 
 been slandered, but who can escape it : I am not one 
 alone : I must bear it patiently till I shall be tried in a 
 higher court than where men judge of human actions. 
 Farewell : my time is expired. Had the moon shone, 
 by her silver rays I durst not have said so much. This 
 bag of gold is not the wages of thy dishonour, but of 
 thy truth and thy rough honesty. Fear not to take it : 
 tell thy master 1 bear him no ill will, — but to speed him 
 on his way to the castle of St. Clair: and tell St Ju- 
 lian that the fairest maid in all Bohemia's smiling land 
 trembles at this moment beneath a tyrant's power, and 
 a stern mother's fell purpose of forcing her to take the 
 vestal vow. Let him be wary, then, and lose no time, 
 or she will be lost to him for ever.' 
 
 So saying, my lord, and after having placed that 
 packet in my hands, this mysterious fair one darted 
 from my sight through one of the cypress trees, and 1 
 saw no more of her ; but whether she be devil or angel 
 I cantiot tell, or a spirit, or a witch, or a prophetess : 
 ^beshrew me but he must a wise man that doth know, for 
 never met I with such a female in all my born days, 
 and I did much fear that if I gave you not the packet, 
 that she would bewitch me with her cursed spells ; so 
 
OR, MARIETTE M^ULINE. 599 
 
 I have e*en delivered it safely into your highness' 
 hands, but what its import is, as I am a living sinner 
 I do not know." 
 
 During the recital of Macgreggor's simple relation, 
 told with that plain, honest, downright sincerity which 
 was the distinguishing feature of this man's character, 
 many changes had taken place in the countenance of 
 the Tartarian conqueror ; and so strong was his emo- 
 tions on receiving the packet from the hands of Mac- 
 greggor, that he burst into an involuntary flood of 
 tears, exclaiming,— 
 
 " My good fellow, fear nothing from the personage 
 from whom you received this packet : it is all right, for 
 she knows me, and I know her ; and be assured that 
 she is neither witch, prophetess, or evil spirit, but a 
 lady of condition, of high birth and superior education, 
 but whom, owing to some peculiar circumstances of 
 sorrow and calamity which have occurred in her do- 
 mestic concerns, has for the present moment over- 
 clouded that bright intellect which was, and will, I 
 hope, still be the glory of an admiring world. She is 
 called Mariette M online, it is true, but it is not her real 
 name. She has only acquired it by her having per- 
 formed so many deeds of benevolence and charity in a 
 convent called by that name : a far superior title be- 
 longs to her, than any yet known, and I wish you to 
 believe that if ever it is your chance to encounter her 
 again that you will treat her with that respect that I 
 now tell you her exalted rask deserves; 'and much more 
 her exalted merit, did you know it all; and also with 
 that kind and tender sympathy which every man feels 
 when he beholds a lovely female whose senses are ob- 
 structed by recent sufferings or sorrow." 
 26 4 H 
 
504 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAW ; 
 
 '• Aod think you, my great lord, that had I known the 
 lady to be such as yeu <iescribe, that I could have men- 
 tioned her thus slightingly ? No : by my good faith ! 
 I know my duty better," uttered Macgreggor ; " for 
 he who would insult a helpless woman, or add to the 
 sorrows that misfortune has already inflicted, is unwor- 
 thy the name of a man ; 1 therefore pray you, my lord, 
 to pardon the boldness I have been guilty of, and to 
 leave you this bag of gold with which the lady did in- 
 trust me. Belike she did not know the value it con- 
 tained. Beseech you take it in^o your possession, for 
 it is not safe in mine.** 
 
 " No, honest Steevy, I shall do no such thing,'* ut- 
 tered Zosinski. *' That which has fairly been rendered 
 as a gift has certainly no right to be returned. Keep 
 it: she intended It as a reward for the trouble she 
 gave you in delivering the packet safely into my hands. 
 1 have the packet, and you the money ; it is your's, 
 and the packet is mine. Retire now, Macgreggor, 
 and leave me to myself awhile : my mind is greatly 
 agitated, and much distressed by the situation of this 
 suffering woman, for whom I have the highest respect 
 and veneration — nay, far more than I can possibly de- 
 scribe." 
 
 " My great and worthy master, I retire at the in- 
 stant," uttered Macgreggor, " with the humble hope 
 that my conduct has in no shape excited your highness* 
 displeasure towards one whose whole is devoted to your 
 service." 
 
 To which Zosinski, waving his hand, exclaimed, — 
 " I have nothing to condemn you for ;" and Macgreg- 
 gor instantly withdrew, leaving the Tartarian chief 
 in an agony of mind not to be described, as slowly and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 5|)5 
 
 even with a trembling hand he unsealed the packet, 
 addressed to him in the hand- writing of Mariette 
 Mouline, which beo^an as follows : too fatally expressive 
 of her present disordered mind, and which, with a 
 shuddering sigh,Zosinski was obliged to acknowledge 
 was too true. 
 
 MARIETTE MOULINE. 
 
 For the perusal of him who best can undwstand what 
 these lines are intended to convey. 
 
 ** Who is that wretched, that pensive young creature, 
 Poor lorn looking ill clad maid ? 
 The glance of her eye 's like the flash of a meteor. 
 Pale is her cheek — sad and wild is each feature. 
 
 As she stands on the martial parade : 
 Disordered her mind seems — most haggaixi her form, — 
 A delicate flower crush'd low by the storm : 
 Borne off by the wild mountain stream of her tears, 
 The cheek-rose of her beauty no longer appears. 
 'Till night to her couch the poor stranger had driven. 
 Day after day, from morning till even, 
 For four long years has she kept that same station- 
 None knew her object, her name, or her nation -. 
 Many with queries the wretched one stun, 
 She listens and weeps — but she answers to none. 
 
 Whenever a young gallant officer passes. 
 
 Anxiety brightens her eye ; 
 It catches — it fastens — ^hope glows and amasses : 
 Ah ! clouded again are her blue optic glasses — 
 
 Her breast heaves a hopeless sigh : 
 Fancy crr'd — 'twas a distant similitude caught ; 
 That fine figure bears not the face thai she sought. 
 Still fastens her eye on a long watch'd street. 
 As thence is her hope the sought object to meet ; 
 Each being that passes her quick eyes pursue—^ 
 
 She looks for the arrival of — none can tell who. 
 
 Where does she come from, or wl^ere does she dwell I 4^'! 
 
 And what is her story ? — No mortal can tell. 
 
596 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR J 
 
 Her garb rent in tatters, her manner so wild, 
 Proclaim her Calamity's heart-broken child. 
 
 With feeling, with pity, the people regard her. 
 
 E'en triflers with reverence gaze j 
 Those in authority never retard her. 
 Some think she loves, and cry " Heaven reward her !" 
 
 And mark her sad looks with amaze. 
 This poor 'wildered head, and sorrow-torn heart. 
 Her name or her story to none could impart. 
 Till once a young female with tenderness said— 
 " Relate me thy sorrows, thou suffering maid : 
 Sorrow has laid a strong hand too on me. 
 And well can I sympathize, sad one, with thee." 
 Mov'd with her tone, the lorn stranger replied — 
 *^ Oh ! tell me, thou kind one — say, art thou a bride ? 
 Thou art then— ah ! thou for sorrows can feel j 
 To thee, and thee only, their source I reveal : 
 Thou mayest yet be happy, — why tell thee of care ? 
 Oh wild is my tale as the yells of despair ! 
 
 You mark my torn drapery — my visage of sorrow j 
 
 A beggar has costlier weeds: 
 You mark the wet cheek that the frequent tears furrow — 
 Their cause — O thy gentle young heart would it harrow ! 
 
 Still hopes my fond heart while it bleeds : 
 You mark this worn gown, threadbare, torn apart — 
 I was seen first in this by the lov'd of my heart j 
 And while a shorn remnant a thread holds together, 
 ril wear it in sunshine, in fierce winter weather : 
 I'll wear it — I'll hug it— this mendicant trim. 
 Memory's dear relict, that tells me of him 1 
 He'll know me in this— aye, the moment 'tis seen. 
 And fly to the arms of Mariette Mouline ! 
 
 My parents-— where are they ? Oh ! enipty 'b their dwellings— 
 
 The hope of their bosoms had fled : 
 O'er the grave of my infant the wild waves are swelling, 
 His mother's mad shrieks was its funei-al knelling,— 
 
 My parents — my young one — all dead ! 
 Yet lives there one — but I'll know he'll be here, — 
 Oh ! weep not, dear maiden — but kind is the tear — 
 
oil, MARIETTE MOULINE. 597 
 
 I'll know he'll be here — I could swear for his truth :. 
 
 The sun in his rounds ne'er beheld such a youth} 
 
 I'll know he'll be here— for he kiss'd me, and said 
 
 At Frankfort I'll meet thee, thou dearly lov'd maid. 
 
 And here have I watch'd on this martial parade, 
 
 And here will I watch and expand my wild eye. 
 
 Till every sense fail me — .till reason shall fly : 
 
 And here will I watch till the ferment of fever 
 
 Shall flame through my brain, and its weak vessel sever ; 
 
 Here, here will I watch, till my eyes cease to ache — 
 
 Till limbs fail to bear me — oh! till my heart break !" 
 
 Then with a sigh, as prophetic as strong— 
 
 Not distant that period — it cannot be long." 
 
 Nor was it — her hopes, though not patience, was over : 
 
 She's seen on parade no more ; 
 Convinced that deceitful, or dead, is her lover 
 (The basest of villains — the cold-hearted rovei*) 
 
 Her presence at Frankfort is o'er : 
 Mariette has wandered — no mortal knows where — 
 Bewildered, half naked, the child of despair. 
 'Twas said that a maniac, depriv'd of her speech. 
 By hunger, she rov'd to the hoar ocean beach. 
 And fed on the sea-weed, until the kind wave 
 Pass'd over, and form'd her a covering and grave. 
 'Twas said — though 'tis wond'rous, and many have smilM 
 To hear of a tale so decidedly wild — 
 That still the lorn form of the heart-broken maid 
 Each midnight is seen on the martial pai'ade.— 
 
 And 'twas said that the same year that poor Mariette departed. 
 
 Her heartless deceiver appear'd 3 
 Gallant, careless, and gay, each wild wish unthwarted, 
 (Oh sear'd is the soul of the profligate-hearted !j 
 
 A laurel-brow'd hero he's cheer'd, — 
 An heiress he weds of a great one in arms. 
 He has heard of lost Mariette, and wept for her harms j 
 He has wept, more than wept — the strong rending pang 
 Tugg'd hard at his bosom with tacit harangue. 
 It tells him a tale, — but confusion to thought ! 
 Push round the wine! — It availeth him naught. 
 
598 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 He has sung the loud song, and drained many a draught ; 
 
 Heard and told the gay jest — and franticly laugh'd ; 
 
 Sworn oaths and fierce curses,— the vile howls of sin I — 
 
 While hot was his heart, and his face wore chagrin. 
 
 Clos'd the day of his nuptials — ^his bride was abed. 
 
 Night-tears of dew in abundance are shed ; 
 
 It thunders — it lightens — a dread sound and sight 1 
 
 He thinks not of rest, nor connubial delight : 
 
 Through midnight, he paces the martial parade. 
 
 What form strikes his eye? 'Tis a luminous maid! 
 
 He shudders— -he*8 tongue-tied — 'tis the wildest of dreams! 
 
 He runs to embrace it — the fair vision screams ! 
 
 As falls the shot soldier, whose spirit has flown, 
 
 Lifeless he drops, — and he's cold as a stone ! 
 
 As the dew on the stone, the cold sweat on his brow j. 
 
 Oh wild were the fates of these children of woe !"^ 
 
 The sensations of Zosinski, on reading this effusion 
 from a lovely and unfortunate woman, whom he fondly 
 adored and had certainly been the destruction of, may 
 better be conceived than described. In her wild wan- 
 derings, she had drawn too faithful a portrait of what 
 she had described : but for him, he knew, full well, 
 that she would never have been reduced to the situa- 
 tion she now was, and that he alone had occasioned 
 those mortal agonies she was now suffering ; — that 
 the loveliest being ever formed by the hands of her 
 Creator, was now a wild and wandering maniac, 
 through his scornful and injurious treatment of her ; — 
 and that in her simple tale, she bad only recounted 
 truths : for he had been the officer, whom she had so 
 vainly sought for on the martial parade, — he had been 
 the man who, marrying a wealthy heiress in Bohemia's 
 land, had slighted the maiden who, for his sake, had 
 sacrificed her family, her exalted birth, and her friends : 
 whom, in early youth, he had robbed of virgin fame, 
 
OR, iWARIETTE MOULINE. (}9i) 
 
 and by whom he had a lovely boy, long since con- 
 signed to the mouldering tomb with the ashes of its 
 forefathers : during which, the unfortunate Mariette 
 was an alien to herself, and her country and friends, 
 (who had utterly abandoned her from the moment that 
 her great protector had also cast her off) when she was 
 fully assured that he was really married to the wealthy 
 heiress, for whom he had sacrificed the chastest and 
 the tenderest ties of affection. When Mariette found 
 the only being on earth, from whom she looked for pro- 
 tection, had utterly abandoned her, she boldly seized 
 on the wealthy possessions which she inherited from 
 her grandfather, and of which no one could deprive 
 her; and, retiring from Vienna, buried herself in the deep 
 bosom of combining shades, to hide her shame and her 
 heartfelt grief, where awhile she gave herself up to the 
 study of the heavenly planets, and acquired so profound 
 a knowledge of them, that, with the unbounded wealth 
 she possessed and the charitable deeds she performed, 
 gained herthe appellation of a prophetess, and sometimes 
 a witch, to the weak>minded and the credulous ; and 
 when whole nights she sat upon a desolate rock in the 
 most tempestuous weather, when stormy winds ever 
 made the most hardy seaman afraid — then Mariette 
 would sit, counting each particular star, and knew 
 well their influence upon the feeble earth ; she felt, 
 indeed, that she was a superior being, and, however 
 hardly judged by those who did not know the motives 
 by which she was compelled to adopt so secluded and 
 so solitary a life, that those motives and those actions 
 were known to the all-seeing eye of heaven. 
 
 And when known to that, what had Mariette to fear ? 
 She was called a witch and a prophetess, in the same 
 
()00 THE MYSTERIES Of ST. CLAIR; 
 
 moment, and for whnt ? With the fotmer appellation 
 she had nothing to do, — and with the latter, alas ! she 
 well knew that was a term that Hid not helong to her, 
 nor did she wish such a term to be applied to her ; 
 because, although she frequently appeared to St. Ju- 
 lian and Sir Walter, yetj it was by mere mortal know- 
 ledge, that she apprized them of their fate, and not by 
 any inspiration of an improper or evil tendency ; and 
 with the prejudiced and illiterate inhabitants of this 
 country, she had acquired the appellation of being a 
 witch, and was certainly more feared than loved, on 
 that account, by this ignorant and uninformed race of 
 beings ; which did not, in the least, affect the mind, or 
 wound the feelings of Mariette Mouline : she was too 
 decidedly a heroine, to be agitated by trifles such as 
 these ; far other cares employed her, for a sudden and 
 most unlooked for event had taken place, and had as 
 suddenly reached her ear. — The wealthy bride of Zo- 
 sinski was no more! and he was again in the posses- 
 sion of liberty, and free to redress her wrongs ; for he 
 bad confessed that he still loved his so long deserted 
 Mariette with the most ardent and unconquerable af- 
 fection, and the barrier being removed between them, 
 what other obstacle remained to prevent his now lead- 
 ing her forward in the face of the whole world, which 
 had so maliciously defamed her, and espousing the 
 -woman he had so long pretended to love, and of whose 
 strong and faithful attachment to him, he had long 
 been convinced. There was, then, nothing to prevent 
 his leading his adored Mariette to the temple of Hy- 
 men, if he himself were inclined to act with justice 
 and honour towards her. Certainly not ; but did he 
 do it ? did he lead his adored Mariette to the altar ? 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 601 
 
 did he now make the only restitution in his power, for 
 the many pangs that his apostate vows had inflicted 
 on her gentle heart? did he now fly to heal those 
 wounds he had made, and soothe that destracted and 
 bewildered frenzy he had occasioned to ])ress on 
 her burning brain r-^No ! he did not, and what was 
 the consequence ? — although progressively slow in its 
 effects on the wasting form and pale, haggard cheeks 
 of the once young and lovely Mariette, and more dis- 
 ordered and wild in her thoughts than before, she be- 
 came, to appearance, in the eyes of strangers, the 
 wretched wandering maniac that Blac^'rreggor had 
 described her to be to her illustrious, but perfidious 
 lover, — the seducer of her virgin fame and innocence, 
 and the father of her child, who, though its infant spi- 
 rit had long since mouldered into dust, still gave the 
 mother who had boriie it the strongest and most ten- 
 der and sacred claim to his aff*ection : and whether the 
 unfortunate Mariette was the wife or the mistress of 
 the great Tartarian conqueror, her rights and privi- 
 leges could not, or ouijht not to have been denied. 
 But it is too frequently a lamentable and incontes- 
 tible fact, that, when woman is so weak and credulous 
 as to obtain no other voucher than merely the promise 
 of a man's love, to become his victim, and the victim 
 also of her own credulity, making the words of a great* 
 ly admired poet too true a picture of her fate : 
 
 ** When lovely woman stoops to folly. 
 And finds, too late, that men betray ; 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
 What art can wash her guilt away ? 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover, 
 To hide hei- shame from every eye^ 
 '27 4 I 
 
602 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. C4.AIR ; 
 
 To give repentance to her lover, 
 And wring his bosom— is, to die," 
 
 But Mariette did not die — Heaven had reserved her 
 for a worse fate 1 and she endured a thousand deaths 
 in a living one, in witnessing and living to prove the 
 apostate vows of her once adored Zosinski. But com- 
 punction and remorse was still to be his — that punish- 
 ment offended heaven had not spared him. The 
 affecting little tale which he had now received from the 
 wild wanderings of the wretched Mariette, now recalled 
 him to a sense of the injuries he had done, and perhaps 
 awakened those tender recollections of former scenes, 
 v^rhen, young and lovely, she had yielded her virgin 
 charms to his unlimited confidence and honour ; but 
 how had he betrayed it ! how cruelly had he abandoned 
 to her helpless fate the only woman he had ever truly 
 loved ! and unable to bear the reflections, (always the 
 consequences of a guilty conscience) he rushed into 
 the chamber of St. Julian, with the packet of Mariette 
 in his hand, and, throwing himself into a chair, bade 
 him peruse it, and tell him what he thought of it, and 
 how he should act with the unfortunate Mariette, were 
 he in his place. At this question of Zosinski's, he be- 
 trayed the most powerful sensations, which St. Julian 
 perceiving, he immediately complied with his request. 
 Well acquainted with the whole history of Mariette 
 before this time, and of the connection which formerly 
 subsisted between her and his illustrious friend, and 
 entertaining himself but one opinion on the subject, 
 and having carefully perused the packet of poor Ma- 
 riette, a pause of some moments ensued — painful, it 
 may be imagiied, and embarrassing to both parties ; 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 603 
 
 for certainly St. Julian could not, in his conscience, 
 hold with the conduct of his noble friend, with the tenor 
 of his principles, in respect to Mariette Mouline. 
 
 *' You do not reply to my question, St. Julian," ex- 
 claimed Zosinski. 
 
 "I have but one reply to make/' answered St. 
 Julian. 
 
 *• And what is that ?" uttered he, *' What shall I do 
 with Mariette ?" 
 
 To which, after a short pause, St. Julian expressive- 
 ly pronounced, — 
 
 *' You should have asked yourself that question 
 when you seduced Mariette from the path of virtue, — 
 it is now in your power to restore her to it. You love 
 her — she was your mistress, but she was faithful to 
 you ; she was also innocent, till you made her other- 
 wise. There is but one way to atone for the injuries 
 you have heaped on her devoted head. Marry her, — 
 make her happy, and you will no longer be miserable." 
 
604 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 " But Heaven's great view is one, and that the whole. 
 That counter-works each folly and caprice j 
 That disappoints the effect of every vice. 
 That happy frailties to all ranks applied- 
 Shame to the virgin — to the matron, pride j 
 Fear to the statesman— rashness to the chief — 
 To kings, presumption — and to crowds, belief. 
 That virtue's ends from vanity can raise. 
 Which seeks no interest,— no reward but pi-aise; 
 And builds on wants, and on defects of mind. 
 The joy, the peace, the glwy of mankind." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IT has been frequently remarked by historians of 
 former times, that nothing is less sincere than asking 
 or giving advice ; for those who ask appear to have a 
 respectful deference for the sentiments of a friend, 
 whilst only seeking approbation or support, who gives 
 advice with the appearance of zeal and disinterested- 
 ness, often blends it with interest and glory. 
 
 But this was not the case with St. Julian, — with the 
 advice, which, when asked, he gave to the friend and 
 brother of his heart, Zosinski ; when he told him what 
 he ought to do to repair the injuries he had done to 
 thf nnfortunate M ariette Alouline. 
 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. C05 
 
 St. Julian disdained to flatter even the faults and 
 failings of friendship, or to distinguish vice by the as- 
 sumed name of virtue ; and, therefore, consulting only 
 truth and nature, he plainly told Zosinski, that having 
 seduced Mariette, he ought — injustice — in honour — 
 in humanity, to marry Mariette, to spare him, both 
 here and hereafter, (which was more to be considered 
 than any earthly fear) the thorn of compunction, and 
 the eternal pang of remorse, which would pray on the 
 heart like a vulture, and like a vulture, destroy him. 
 
 And, after a short, but manful struggle with his 
 feelings, in which pride had been a powerful opponent 
 to love, yet the high sense of honor which every man 
 should feel towards a helpless and unfriended woman, 
 by him first taught to stray, and the sentiments which 
 his exalted friend had so warmly expressed on the sub- 
 ject, yielded at length to the propriety of acting rightly 
 and justly ; and subdued all the weaknesses of worldly 
 pomp, and worldly vanity ; and, turning to St. Julian 
 at the same moment that he extended his hand towards 
 him, he triumphantly pronounced, " St. Julian, wish 
 me joy, I will marry JMariette! — thy eloquence hath 
 conquered !'' 
 
 " My eloquence !" uttered St. Julian, " say, rather, 
 * thy own virtue hatli conquered !' — yet I will most 
 sincerely wish you joy of the secret satisfaction you now 
 feel in the performance of your duty. Let me then per- 
 suade you, ere your resolution cools, to let the holy 
 rites, between you and Mariette, be solemnized as soon 
 as possible, before we proceed to St. Clair.*' 
 
 Zosinski smiled, " And, where a second solemniza- 
 tion of holy rites will be performed, between St. Ju- 
 
606 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 lian the Bohemian conquerer, and the beauteous daugh- 
 ter of Albino !" uttered he. 
 
 " For happy they, the happiest of their kin J, 
 Whom gentle stars unite.'* 
 
 " Is it not so, my friend, — doth not all that is gen- 
 tle combine with all that is tender and kind, in the love 
 you feel for Augustina, and the love she feels for you?" 
 
 " I acknowledge the soft temperature of that lovely 
 creature," cried St. Julian, the most rapturous expres- 
 sion beaming in his bright and intelligent eyes, " nor 
 do you overate her excellence of disposition, for with- 
 out one jarring atom, was my Augustina formed, and 
 naught but love and gentleness make up her being.'' 
 
 After this conversation, the mind of the Tartarian 
 conqueror became more tranquillized, and he deter- 
 mined to espouse his still loved and much injured Ma- 
 riette almost immediately, and with all that regal 
 pomp and splendour which was due to his exalted 
 rank, and the real merit of his beauteous bride ; and as 
 he had much eloquence to exert before she would be 
 persuaded again to listen to him on the subject of love, 
 he implored of St. Julian to accompany him to her 
 mountain dwelling where she had so mysteriously con- 
 cealed herself, and had passed for a witch. 
 
 " But we must not too suddenly appear before her," 
 exclaimed St. Julian, " it will affright her, or^so sur- 
 prize her, that her senses may fly for ever. Slie will 
 not believe the flattering tale, that Zosinski, the great 
 Zosinski 1 now means to redress those wrongs he lias 
 heaped upon her — soothe those pangs his cruelty has 
 inflicted, by making her his bride in the court of all 
 Vienna, and, with triumphant joy, lead her to a con- 
 queror's home, — never more to wander in retreats, far 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 607 
 
 from the busy haunts of men, who have pointed the fin- 
 ger of scorn or reproach at her, or have deemed her a 
 maniac, not knowing the deep sorrows of her aching 
 heart, or were profoundly ignorant of her secret his- 
 tory ; a husband's arm will now protect her and shield 
 her from every sorrow and every care ; a husband — 
 woman's best friend, woman's best protector, and, last 
 of all, woman's surest foundation of all earthly happi- 
 ness, without which, she is but a weak instrument in 
 the hands of the treacherous, the base, the licentious, 
 and the wicked. Hasten, then, great sir, to perform a 
 deed so truly worthy of the renowned Zosinski, and re- 
 flect that the moments are precious. Mariette has 
 predicted that my Augustina now trembles beneath a 
 tyrant's power, and that the castle of St. Clair is, or 
 will be, in danger of being surprised, though I am well 
 assured that it will never be taken by the hands of the 
 enemy, yet the sooner we set forward on our march 
 there the better. Let us, then, journey to the mountains 
 — I know the dwelling of Mariette, for beneath her hos- 
 pitable roof was I sheltered, when I fled from the pow- 
 er of ray vindictive foes ; but her doors are guarded by 
 an elphi, (or more properly speaking, a dwarf) whom, 
 I suppose, she keeps us an attendant, yet, trulyj with 
 a rough outside, he has a kindly heart within. Come, 
 then, let us away to the habitation of Mariette : it is 
 now near evening, and we may encounter her seated in 
 some lonely glen, or in her nightly studies of the hea- 
 venly planets, of which she has so- vast aud extensive 
 a knowledge as never woman had before. Amazed at 
 her profound discourse, I could have worshipped her 
 as a celestial, instead of a terrestrial being, had she 
 not informed me of her real situation, and the unfortu- 
 
608 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 nate circumstances in -^vhich she had been placed, 
 owins^to the desertion of the man she had loved, con- 
 cealing only his name, and his illustrious rank. Ah, 
 great sir ! how little did I think that man was Zosinski, 
 the seducer of the unfortunate Mariette Mouline !*' 
 
 " But you know it now, sir," uttered Zosinski, a 
 little warmly, and hurt by the continued imputation, 
 which he certainly so well merited, — that of being the 
 actual seducer of the most accomplished, and the most 
 lovely being in creation, and so long having inflicted 
 on her helpless and unfriended bosom, such im- 
 measurable pangs of cruelty. *' You know it now," 
 added Zosinski, heaving a mournful and involuntary 
 sigh ot bitter reflection, " and you also know, that I 
 am now ready and willing to atone for all my former 
 negligence towards her. I love Mariette ! by all the 
 immortal gods that rule above us I still love Mariette 
 beyond all earthly women, and will marry her, could 
 I hope she will yet accept of my now honourable pro- 
 posals ! Wherefore then, St. Julian, do you find it ne- 
 cessary still to reproach me by a repetition of the wrongs 
 that I have done her ? *tis indeed ungenerous, when I 
 have so openly and penitently confessed my faults.'' 
 
 To which St. Julian replied, ** Far be it from me 
 to add to the sufferings of a wounded conscience, but 
 if I felt not for the woman, and such a woman as Ma- 
 riette, I were unworthy of the name of man, for I 
 shrewdly suspect that what she told Macgreggor was 
 no fiction or idle dream of a wild imagination, and 
 that the victory we have gained, has partly been ow- 
 ing. to her machinations ; for if 1 auger rightly, I do 
 believe that she is the very Bertha whom Sir Walter 
 encountered in his journey to the camp, and the same 
 
OR, MARIETTC MOIILINE. 609 
 
 Bertha who has protected the child of Lord Delfrida 
 from the rapacious power and cruelty of the cursed 
 priest, the perfidious monster in a human shape, the 
 Cardinal Benvolio, the foul murderer of the unfortu- 
 nate Aubigny I but if I find him sucb — (as such I may) 
 I love not to shed the blood of human beings, — or that 
 I should shed the blood of the innocent, may every pity- 
 ing angel forbid, — but if he has taken the life of Au- 
 bigny, (as Ferdinand has told me that it is suspected 
 that he hath) then blood shall be repaid by blood : it 
 is justice, and if he is guilty the sentence shall not be 
 revoked. Ferdinand he would have murdered, and 
 why not Aubigny, who has never been heard of, since 
 late one evening he departed from the castle of St. 
 Clair. A short time will reveal the mystery, and then 
 let the cardinal beware of his mortal enemy — St. 
 Julian !*' 
 
 " And of Zosinski, his no less hated one,'' exclaim- 
 ed the Tartarian conqueror, " But with respect to 
 Mariette and Bertha being the same, I have not the 
 slightest doubt of it : for the second name of Mariette 
 is certainly Bertha, — her real name is Maddelina Bertha 
 Molinu, but for the reasons I have before stated, she 
 assumed that of Mariette Mouline, and has since been 
 allowed, by the holy sisterhood of that convent, to re« 
 tain it, in consequence of the large contributions she 
 paid to it« charitable institution, when she came into the 
 possession of the property of her grandfather, which 
 has doubtless protected her greatly from the severity 
 of the laws of the court of Vienna, that always senten- 
 ces those personages accused of witchcraft or sor- 
 eery to immediate death ; but I have been told, that 
 Mariette (for so I shall yet call her) once pleaded her 
 27 4 K 
 
610 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR 
 
 cause in the s6nate-house, before all the judges, when 
 she was charged with having led the people astray by 
 the power of her spells, and supposed incantations and 
 communion with evil and mysterious spirits, but that 
 the powerful arguments she made use of, to 6ontro- 
 vert the charges and ill-founded prejudices so falsely 
 brought against her, so confounded and astonished 
 h6r judges, that the whole assembly of learned men, 
 ti6t only were clearly convinced of her not having me- 
 rited the accusations, feut decidedly pronounced her 
 not guilty; and since which the court of Vienna has 
 never permitted any one to molest Mariette in her 
 Tonely retreat. And to this circumstance it is owing 
 that she could protect even the soldiery, if they flew to 
 her for concealment. It is no wonder, then, that her 
 retreat in the mountains, which border on the valley 
 of St. Gothard, should so often have been the sanctu- 
 ary of the unfortunate and the distressed, because Ma- 
 riette always had the power of relief in her own hands, 
 for she was wealthy, and her delight was to prove that 
 she was not proud of riches, but rather used them in 
 supplying the wants of others. 
 
 The sun was now sinking fast down on the bosom of 
 the ocean, which, proud to receive its glorious and 
 fieautif'ul guest, seemed as if it had bid rude Boreas 
 to cease to blow too roughly, while it threw its golden 
 glances there, so calm, so gentle, and so transparent 
 was the wave; while tlie dews of evening, as they fell on 
 every flower, that bloomed freshly^and sweetly through 
 the casement, was chewiog and enlivening to the de- 
 jected, or rather the agitated, spirits of Zosinski : and 
 after partaking of some slight refreshment, they stole 
 secretly out of the western turret, and took the nearest 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 611 
 
 way to the mountain, near to which was the valley of 
 St. Gothard, and not far from thence, hid amidst the 
 branches of the beautiful arcacia trees, stood the lovely 
 and sequestered dwelling of Mariette Mouline, When 
 they approached the entrance, Zosinski was so agita- 
 ted, that he exclaimed, in a low, faultering voice, to St. 
 Julian, — r 
 
 " There dwells the only woman ray soul has ever 
 truly loved ! she whom I was wont to approach with- 
 out fear of ever being frowned upon, — but now I trem- 
 ble — for the frown of Mariette will now, to me, be more 
 terrible than a whole army prepared for battle ! — St. 
 Julian, I dare not venture thither, till you have paved 
 the way for my introduction. Go, then, my friend, and, 
 with all that eloquence with which nature has so pow- 
 erfully gifted you, plead the cause of Zosinski. — Tell 
 her, of all my former follies, I repent ; and, with the 
 most unfeigned penitence and contrition, now implore 
 her to accept of a hand and a heart, which shall hence- 
 forth be entirely devoted to her iservice. Tell her this, 
 St. Julian, and "" 
 
 At this moment the «lphi appeared at the entrance 
 of Mariette's cottage, and seeing St. Julian advancing 
 towards him, surlily demanded to know what business 
 brought him there ; but, by no means discouraged, or 
 even offended, with this ungracious reception, St. Ju- 
 lian, with great miidiless, Teplied,— 
 
 " My business is with thy rai^tre^s, friend, so please 
 thee, and not for thy ear. I wish to see her, if she be 
 in her dwelling, whichj at this lonely hour, I do suppose 
 she is." ' 
 
 " And for that same reason she will not see thee," 
 uttered the dwarf, though in a milder accent, ** She 
 
&\2 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 converseth with no one when the silent hour of evening- 
 doth steal in, but doth betake her then to study, in the 
 which she will suffer no interruption ; but, since thy 
 business be so urgent, 1 will, though contrary to her 
 binding, forthwith, acquaint her that a stranger is at the 
 gate, and wishes to speak with her." 
 
 " Say, rather, a friend, — and she will the more rea- 
 dily attend to me," uttered St. Julian, "and 1 will be 
 bold to say, that I am no enemy to Mariette Mouline. 
 Thou hast seen me once,^ — dost thou not remember ?'* 
 
 There was an expressive dignity both in the look 
 and the manner of St. Julian, to which no one could 
 long be indifferent ; and the dwarf, a second time sur- 
 veying him, answered, — 
 
 " I think I have seen you before : and, now I look 
 on thy visage again, I do, in some sort, remember thee ; 
 for thou hadst a companion, a fair youth, who wore the 
 habit of a minstrel, but thou wert a jew, — now thou 
 bearest the colours of a soldier,— and a soldier, in these 
 perilous times, is to be suspected, — nevertheless, I'll 
 trust thy honesty ; thou dost not look of the betraying 
 kind, so stay awhile, and quickly will I bear^thy message 
 to ray mistress.*' 
 
 One point was now accomplished, and that was no 
 trifling one, at the present crisis of affairs ; for it was 
 certainly, at the pleasure of the dwarf, to carry a mes- 
 sage, or not, in to his mistress, which if he had peremp- 
 torily refused to do, it would not have been possible for 
 Zosinski to have obtained an interview with her till the 
 ensuing morning ; and Zosinski, having concealed 
 himself in the deep foliage of the trees, waited, in the 
 most breathless anxiety, for the return of the dwarf, 
 who, in a few minutes, again made his appearance to 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOUUNE. 613 
 
 St. Julian, and informed him that his mistress had given 
 orders that he was to be admitted, to have a private 
 conference with her, provided, that if he had any fire- 
 arms about him, he was to leave them in the care of 
 the dwarf, till he should take his departure from her 
 dwelling. 
 
 St. Julian smiled at the prohibition, and promised 
 faithfully to perform it, if the dwarf could find any fire- 
 arms about him. 
 
 " In the supposition, probably," uttered he, " that 
 your mistress fears some hostile attack, if she offended 
 me ; — but believe me, friend, that fear is futile. I carry 
 BO fire-arms when 1 approach the presence of lovely 
 woman — although I am a soldier, and carry them to the 
 field to do my duty to my sovereign and my country, 
 which, next to heaven, I adore in holy reverence and 
 ardent zeal ! but to use violence to woman is beneath 
 a soldier and a man ; I would protect her, but never 
 harm her gentle sex with terror or with fear, contrary 
 to the rules of delicacy, decency or sense ; he, who 
 does this, is a mere sensual brute, and with brutes only 
 ought he to have human intercourse. Lead me, then, 
 honest friend, to the presence of thy mistress, and she 
 will soon learn that my purpose hither is to serve her 
 faithfully, and not myself, and that St. Julian is the 
 friend of virtue, humanity and justice ; — and that more 
 especially when a woman is in the case, that he would 
 perish before he would transgress, or pass its sacred 
 boundaries." 
 
 The astonishment of the dwarf was now such as one 
 struck by the effect of electricity, or shot by the vivid 
 lightning's flash, for never dreamt he of the illustrious 
 rank and renowned fame of the stranger, who had once 
 
614 THF. MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAia; 
 
 before, in the habit of a Jew, visited the lonely retreat of 
 Mariette Mouline, but in the costume that he wore now 
 he only appeared in the quality of a Bohemian soldier. 
 But who had not heard of St. Julian ? — In his defeat 
 he was followed and adored, for glorious and de- 
 cided had been his victories before, but the last he had 
 obtained on the plains of Morna Penritch, had sur- 
 passed all others. Their foes could now do nothing 
 but yield in humble submission to the Bohemian con- 
 queror, or see their armies perish, for famine had al- 
 ready desolated the land, and made their coffers empty ; 
 and like the bright and majestic god of day, St. Julian 
 now appeared in full meridian splendour to the country 
 for whose rights and privileges he had so long bravely 
 fought, and now eventually and successfully restored 
 to them. At a moment when fortune had seemed to 
 desert him, \yhich was lamented and deplored by all 
 his countrymen, the fickle goddess comes forth .to 
 hail the champion of liberty, and crown the immortal 
 hero with the bright laurel of a never-fading victory. 
 What, then, was the surprise of the poor simple dwarf, 
 to find in the stranger, who so humbly solicited an au- 
 dience with his mistress, that it was the great St. Ju- 
 lian, who now stood a petitioner at her gates ? and he 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 ",St. Julian! and art thou St, Julian, the saviour and 
 the conqueror of our blessed land ? Pardon, pardon I 
 pray you, sir, for the uncourteous ceremony 1 have 
 used towards you ; yet to have looked on those noble 
 lineaments of feature, I could not have doubted.'' 
 
 " But this is not the age to judge of human charac- 
 ters by looks, or any putward semblance of form or 
 features, my good friend," uttered St, Julian, " it is too 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 615 
 
 vitiated, and man's heart cannot be probed ; though he 
 wore the character of an earthly saint imprinted on his 
 brow, all human decern ment, all human skill or know- 
 ledge would fail to kno\r his virtues or his vices. There- 
 fore, I do frefely pardon tbfee thine offence. I came not 
 hither to seek flattery, of to merit praise — a bubble, 
 when compared to the real sunshine of the praise we 
 seek in our own breast, from the reflection of a pure 
 unsullied conscience, which no man can give to 
 another, if he has it not within himself.'' 
 
 " Sirj thou art worthy to be what thou art — for thou 
 art that which thou seendest/' cried the dwarf, and 
 immediately led the way to the chamber, where, fixed 
 in the most profound meditation, sat, reclined, the 
 once lovely, though now wasted, form of Mariette Mou- 
 Jine. There were books and writing materials before 
 her, with a volume of the Holy Scriptures placed on a 
 table, a silver lamp, which emitted a bright flame, and 
 vases filled with the most fragrant and odoriferous flow- 
 ers, perfumed the whole apartment ; but, most of all, 
 St. Julian marked her figure, which certainly never 
 appeared to greater advantage, and so diflferent to that 
 costume in which he had before been accustomed to 
 behold it, that he could not believe that it was the same 
 wild wanderer ; for Mariette was now attired in a Vene- 
 tian dress, which so becomingly adorned her fine pro- 
 portioned form, that the loveliness of her shape was seen 
 through almost every fold of the snowy drapery, which 
 was gracefully, though not immodestly, displayed. On 
 her head no longer appeared the plume of black fea- 
 thers and bonnet, which gav6 her the look of a warlike 
 heroine — but her luxuriant, dark tresses, which before 
 shaded her fine features and her fine- formed snowy 
 
Cl^ THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 neck were neatty and elegantly braided, although not 
 with studied care, while a simple white rose graced her 
 lovely bosom ; her dark eyes were, on the entrance of 
 St. Julian, in earnest contemplation of the globe, which 
 was placed before her, and it was evident that the to- 
 tal tenor of Mariette's character, and even manners, 
 had undergone a revolution since he had last beheld 
 her, for in return to the respectful salutation, with which 
 he greeted her, she mildly addressed him with the fol- 
 lowing impressive words : — 
 
 " St. Julian, thou art welcome here, but far more 
 welcome wouldst thou have been elsewhere. Why tar- 
 riest thou from her whom thy soul loveth ? she is in 
 danger, and I have apprized thee of it, (if the soldier 
 has been faithful, to whom I gave the charge to has- 
 ten to the towers of St. Clair with all convenient speed, 
 or thy Augustina would be lost to thee for ever.) Why 
 hast thou neglected the warning-of Mariette Mouline ? 
 why lingerest thou in the fortress of St. Antonio so long 
 after the battle at Morna Penritch ? Friendship is 
 dear, and sacred are its ties — but is not love dearer, 
 and are not its ties more sacred ? Resolve me that 
 question," 
 
 To which, after a pause, and having taken a seat, to 
 which she pointed, exactly opposite to her, St. Julian 
 energetically replied,— 
 
 " I grant, lovely Mariette, that your argument is 
 too powerful to admit of contradiction ; I own that 
 friendship has sacred ties, and I will acknowledge that 
 love claims pre-eminence above all other ties subsist- 
 ing between earth and heaven, and I am come hither, 
 Mariette, on a mission of both love and friendship, the 
 humblest suppliant that mortal man e'er sued to mor- 
 
I 
 
 K. 
 
C ' 
 
 r fiotJmaU 4«L<ft k 
 
 /V/////^'. ^///4vy^>/^^;^7^;/ry^ 
 
 *• trr.'^/t/.JV/u.-vr- 
 
 ^Mih.^. 
 
()«, MARIETTE MOULING. 617 
 
 tal woman — not for myself, — start not,thou loveliest and 
 most injured of women : — thou knowest, full well, that 
 St. Julian would perish ere he would insult a helpless, 
 unprotected female with offers unchaste or unholy, or 
 that, ang-el as thou art, I would, under any circum- 
 stance, forego my plighted vows to my Augustina : — not 
 for myself, therefore, am I a suitor, or do I plead ; and* 
 having said thus far, cannot you guess from whom I 
 bear the high commission ? I have a friend I wear in 
 my heart's core — need 1 repeat his name ? from him 
 I came. — Ah ! let not thy soft bosom swell indignantly, 
 or e'er reflect on injuries that are now to be redress- 
 ed — on pangs that are now to be soothed — on apos- 
 tate vows that are now to be renewed with an encrease 
 of passion, truth and fervor, never to be dissolved but 
 by death. Ah, Mariette ! cannot you now guess the 
 purport of my visit here ?" 
 
 Mariette Mouline, in almost breathless accents, im- 
 plored St. Julian to be more explanatory on the 
 subject, '' For you know how terrible," utteredshe, with 
 a look that penetrated the inmost soul of St. Julian, 
 *' it is for man to sport with woman's feelings. 
 Zosinski long did lay the snare he caught me in, and 
 when 1 fell a victim to his perjured faith, — when I gave 
 to his arms a beauteous boy, the pledge of mutual love, 
 he abandoned me to shame, although not to want or 
 misery, for I had means still in my power to procure 
 the necessaries and even the luxuries of life without 
 his assistance ; but, ah ! what were these luxuries ? 
 Ask these humble, gloomy, and retiring shades, where 
 I have wept whole nights in speechless agony, and in 
 humble penitence mourned for the indiscretion I had 
 been guilty of. In the meantime, my boy died, and 
 Zosinski, adding fresh pangs to his desertion and bis 
 97 4 L 
 
BIB THB MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 inconstancy, married a wealthy heiress, in the city of 
 Vienna — though wealth he wanted not. She was of 
 a princely birth, and his sole view, in this union, must 
 have been ambition. Still, with woman's pride, I bore 
 my wrongs, although by an ill-judging and censorious 
 world reproached, and deemed a prophaner of 
 religion's sacred laws — a sorcerer and witch ; and 
 though none such there are, yet I bore the shame, and 
 should have suffered the punishment of one, had I not 
 boldly in the court of Vienna, protested my innocence 
 and shamed my accusers. After this I gained respect, 
 and was quietly left to follow the course of the harm- 
 less life I had adopted in these wild mountains ; — when, 
 all at once, the rumour reached me, that the lady of 
 Zosinski was no more! — But came he near me? — offered 
 he me any contrition ? — showed he any signs of peni- 
 tence ? — No St, Julian ! If he has told my history,and 
 told \i truly to thee, he will tell thee he has not ; then 
 on what errand can he send, thee here, but to mock my 
 »«isery, and triumph o'er the victim he has made ?^' 
 
 A pause ensued, solemn as that which death makes. 
 All was motionless and silent in the chamberof Mariette 
 MouUnc ! St. Julian feared that he had a much more 
 diHicult task designated to him, by Zosinski, than he 
 imagined could be performed under the existing cir- 
 cumstances of so much cruelty and injustice as he had 
 been guilty of towards this lovely and unfortunate wo- 
 man ; and, highly as St. Julian venerated his friend, 
 he beheld his conduct to Mariette, with a sentiment 
 of the severest reprehension. There was no time to 
 be lost,— and he endeavoured to convince her that 
 Zozinski was really a penitent, and willing to atone, 
 by marriage, for all his former unkindness ; on hear- 
 ing which, Mariette uttered a loud and pieiHjing 
 
OR, MARIETTA M0f9t.tNE. f^ 
 
 shriek, wholly overpowered hy so unexpected a change 
 in her, hitherto, wretched fortune : but, after a while, 
 became more tranquilized, on St. Julian's solemnly pro- 
 testing^ that he was sent by Zosinski, to offer those pro- 
 posals, in the hope of her pardon and forgiveness. 
 
 "Which you surely will not, cannot in justice to 
 yourself, Mariette, deny,'' cried St. Julian. 
 
 " Then why comes he aot here, to offer those pro-^ 
 posals himself ?'* uttered she, ** why send an ambas^a? 
 dor, on such an occasion ?'* 
 
 To which, St. Juliau rej)lied, — 
 
 "That question, Mariette, I cannot resolve : the 
 mission on which I am sent, is indeed painful to me — 
 still, I hope you have not found me unworthy of it. 
 Come, consit^n not to misery and to eternal despair, th^ 
 man you still love ; bid me be the harbinger of hope* 
 and let me convey the transporting tidings to him, that 
 Mariette is as generous and as exalted as he once knew 
 her to be." ^ 
 
 " Well, you may do exactly what your heart directs 
 you,'' uttered the agitated Mariette. 
 
 " Shall I," exclaimed St. Julian, — *' I take you at 
 your word, then : and I will instantly do as my heart 
 directs me, by this moment bringing the penitent to 
 your arms." 
 
 Away flew St. Julian to his friend, and in the next 
 moment he was at the feet of his adored Mariette Mou- 
 line : where he sued for pardon, and it was not long 
 denied to him ; Mariette promising to become t\\e bride 
 of Zosinski on that happy day when St. Jv»lian should 
 become the husband of the Lady Augustina Albino ; 
 with widch arrangement Zosinski was obliged to be 
 content, hoping that blessed and long looked for hour 
 would slfiortiy arrive, for the, completion of tlie happi- 
 
(J20 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR ; 
 
 ness of his noble friend — nor was it far distant. Tlie 
 ivbole army of St. Julian, united with the combined 
 forces of Zosinski, setting forward on the ensuing^ 
 morning, to the castle of St. Clair, which made but a 
 feeble resistance to such superior force ; and no 
 alternative remained to the Lady Margaret, but im- 
 mediately to surrender ; — her battlements were al- 
 ready besieged, and, in the next moment, would be 
 set on fire^ — her soldiery had derided her, and her ene- 
 mies defied her : — she could do nothing but yield, for 
 her strength, her pride, her ambition, and her wealth, 
 were no longer of any avail. And what was the mighty 
 cardinal ? — where was now his tower of fancied great- 
 ness ? It would now be changed for a dark and loath- 
 some dungeon, where no knee would bend in servile 
 obedience to his haughty commands, and where the 
 canopy over his head would shortly be a scaffold ; for 
 the moment that St. Julian possessed himself of the 
 castle of St. Clair, he arrested the cardinal as a traitor 
 to the state, and a murderer, and commanded him to 
 be heavily chained. He next, forthwith, marched into 
 the apartment of the Lady Margaret, and stood in her 
 presence, taking Ferdinand along with him, at sight 
 of whom, she uttered the most piercing shrieks of in- 
 voluntary horror. 
 
 " Now, haughty and inflexible, as well as perfidi- 
 ous and abandoned woman,'* uttered St. Julian, " you 
 will now be taught a lesson which you never knew 
 before : — to feel for yourself what you never felt for 
 another. I am aware of all your crimes, and those 
 of your paramour ; all protestations of your innocence, 
 therefore, will have no avail. You cannot escape or 
 deny your guiit, when you look on that face — it is Fer- 
 dinand ! — a living witness of your foul dishonour, and 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOITLINE. 621 
 
 whom you and your holy, pious friend had kindly pro- 
 vided a bed for, in the deep waters of the Severn. 
 Mark me, and blush at the enormityof the crimes with 
 which I charge you! Had the dagger's point but done 
 its duty, (which you and the infernal priest aimed at 
 the breast of Ferdinand, in the corridor, on the night of 
 the carnival at Vienna) this tale had ne'er been known, 
 to blush thy cheek with burning shame — for so you 
 thought ; but, Margaret, Heaven sees and knows vThat 
 man denies. Go, and repent, while yet some few years 
 are spared thee ; hereafter — thou must seek for pardon 
 through repentance, a contrite spirit, and a humble 
 heart." 
 
 So saying, St. Julian quitted tlie presence of the 
 Lady Margaret, and left her to the care of her attend- 
 ants, (in whose arms, struck with speechless horror 
 and dismay, she had fainted) and flew, on the wings 
 of love to his Augustina. The gentle, lovely and 
 virtuous maiden, though greatly affrighted with the 
 scenes before her, received her gallant and illustrious 
 lover with demonstrations not of the most lively, yet 
 of the most tender joy ; still, as he pressed, with ar- 
 dour, her lovely cheek, she murmured in a pitying 
 accent, and with a look almost divine, — 
 
 *' St. Julian ! spare, oh spare, my mother I'' 
 
 To which, the tenderest response was given by St. 
 Julian, who exclaimed, — 
 
 " I have — I will, my dearest, and, if possible, con- 
 ceal her shame ; — be satisfied, thy mother is safe under 
 my protection : — but for the accursed priest — " 
 
 " Oh, spare him, too !" uttered Augustina. " 1 
 know that he is guilty of the basest crimes, and has led 
 my mother astray by his pretended zeal and piety, — 
 but do not let the sentence of death be passed on him ; 
 
622 THE MYSTERIES OF S'P. CLAIR; 
 
 •*— banish hira — send him to a far distant clime, — 
 but do not, my beloved St. Julian, send a guilty sinner 
 down to the grave, without repentance." 
 
 " I cannot promise you any thing on this subject, 
 my Augustina," uttered St. Julian, " nor wouldst thou 
 plead for this base wretch, didst thou but know the 
 extent of his offences." 
 
 But the crafty priest, subtle to the last hour of fleet- 
 ing existence, proved too crafty, even for the sentence 
 of the law to be passed on him, and contrived, while con- 
 fined in the prison of Vienna, (whither he had been 
 sent till his trial, to end his hated, disgraced, and now 
 loathed existence, by swallowing a large dose of 
 poison. But the unhappy fate of Aubigny was not 
 permitted to remain in darkness : he was not deprived 
 of existence by the perfidious priest, but he had con- 
 trived to make that existence insupportable to hira, by 
 placing hiin in perpetual confinement in one of the go- 
 thic chambers, in the lower part of the castle, and it is 
 probable his wretched situation would never have been 
 discovered, or his existence preserved, but for the 
 death of the monster who had inflicted this barbarous 
 and horrible revenge. 
 
 In justice, however, to the Lady Margaret, — she 
 was profoundly ignorant of this last crime being perpe- 
 trated by Benvolio, of whom she had often enquired 
 the fate of Aubigny. 
 
 The sun of happiness was now beginning to beam 
 through a mist of darkness : for Mariette Mouline 
 very speedily introduced a little stranger into court, 
 of whom, since the death of the sister Agnes, she had 
 been the protectress, and giving her to the arms of 
 Aubigny, pronounced, — 
 
 There, Aubigny, is your niece, the child of your 
 
OR, MARIETTE MOULINE. 
 
 adored and long lamented sister, the unfortunate Ade- 
 laide ; she is the real Marietta Mouiine ! for by that 
 name was she christened by her foster-mother, the kind 
 and benevolent sister Agnes, who, when death closed 
 her eyes, gave this child to my care, with charge never 
 to abandon her, till beyond the power of the Cardinal 
 Benvolio '• happily, that period is arrived: — she is be- 
 yond the reach of the Cardinal Benvolio, and will short- 
 ly be under better protection than mine : 1 mean that 
 of her natural protector, Lord Delfrida her father. He 
 has visited me more than once in my retreat, and, 
 when he again returns from Italy, will receive his 
 daughter.'* 
 
 As soon as these explanatory circumstances were 
 finally arranged and concluded, St. Julian was pro- 
 claimed Emperor of Bohemia, with all the honours, 
 rights and privileges, of which Josephus, (the 
 Usurper) had so long injuriously depriveil him ; and 
 immediately after his nuptials took place with the love- 
 ly Augustina Albino; — those also of the Tartarian con- 
 queror, Zosinski, with, the no longer Mariette Mouiine, 
 but. Lady Maddelina Bertha Molinu, to the amazement 
 of the Bohemians ; for, since her acquittal at Vienna, 
 the mountain witch had been held in the highest venera- 
 tion and respect ; and the splendour and magnificent 
 station in which she now appeared — as the bride of 
 Zosinski, rather excited a decided opinion of her extra- 
 ordinary merit, than envy at her unexpected exaltation 
 to fortune and to fame. 
 
 Andr%vere tlie nuptials of St. Julian less splendid 
 then those o-f his friend ? yes, they were so ; for 8t. 
 Julian was a man of a humble mind, and considered 
 earthly pomp and earthly vanities but of little value, 
 when compared to the blessings that flow from the rich 
 
<)24 THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR; 
 
 treasure of domestic peace and happiness : and no 
 woman was more calculated to increase that happi- 
 ness, and add to those quiet, tranquil joys than Augus- 
 tina, who, by her marriage with St. Julian, although 
 raised to the rank of an empress, was as humble as the 
 village maid. She retained in her service the faithful 
 Antoinette, who, restored to her Ferdinand, was now 
 the happiest of wives. Under these aspices, began the 
 reign of St. Julian — Emperor the h ourth and Augustiua 
 both, the idols of their native land ; foriiied^to adorn 
 a court, but not to vitiate it, and, by example, proving, 
 even in their children, two of which were the tender and 
 chaste pledges of their mutual love and unchanging 
 fidelity towards each other, that it is not the most ex- 
 alted rank, or the most splendid riches, that can con- 
 fer happiness, if peace and contentment is not the sun- 
 shine of the breast, — that, like the fragrance of the 
 rose, lasts for ever : /or when its leaves are dropped, 
 its virtues does not perish with its fading beauty, but 
 leaves tlie memorial of its sweetness, which time can- 
 not wither, or the changing seasons ever decay. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER. 
 
 Vignette 1 
 
 Interview of Sir Walter with Lady Margaret. . . . 23 
 Augustina , 4Q 
 
 Macgreggor listening to Bibbo 145 
 
 St. Julan discovering himself to Sir Walter. . . « 300 
 The first interview of De Aubigny & Lord Albino 434 
 
 Ferdinand listening to Antoinette 461 
 
 Marielte MouUne discovered by her father 617 
 
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